


You or Someone Like You

by scifigrl47



Series: Tales of the Bots [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Found Families, Gen, Kidfic, Lost children, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 65,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad things happen when you punch holes in the fabric of time and space.  Things get lost.</p><p>Including things that really, really shouldn't be misplaced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which I crossover my own damn fanfic verses. Yep. I'm doing a self crossover. Jumpin' the shark over here.
> 
> The person responsible for this knows who she is. It's on your head, lady. This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written. I regret nothing, except that I have two verses to cross.
> 
> Slight warnings for child endangerment. Poor baby.

“Holy hell, they weren't kidding.”

Darcy, perched on the edge of a mostly intact workbench, glanced over her shoulder at him. “You must be new here,” she said, with a broad smile. “When it comes to chaos, destruction, and all around disaster, they never kid.” 

“I'm getting that.” Harris set the case down next to her. Despite its slight weight, the bench shifted to the side, tottering as if it were considering falling over. Darcy shifted in the other direction, rebalancing the rubble. “What HAPPENED?” Harris asked, his head tipping back. Nothing was on fire, but it looked like stuff had only recently been extinguished, and a few chunks of the ceiling were still smoldering. “It looks like something exploded in here.”

Darcy leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, one foot bouncing in midair. “Imploded is probably more accurate,” she said. She tipped her head in his direction. “It's Reed Richards' fault.”

“Did Tony tell you that? Because he's not always strictly trustworthy when it comes to things being Reed Richards' fault,” Harris said. “He blames Reed for the national debt and the fact that they discontinued Nacho Hot Pockets.” He leaned against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not sure if the two are connected, but I get the best texts from him when he's been stress engineering.”

“Why haven't you changed your number yet?” Darcy asked, grinning.

“I'm saving them up, someday I'm going to get a hell of a book deal from them.” Harris ducked as a SHIELD tech team walked past, the remains of a twisted girder over their shoulders. “No, seriously, what happened?”

“Bad shit.”

Harris' eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “Wanna be a little more specific?”

“I'd like to be,” Darcy said. “But that would imply I have any idea. About fourteen hours ago, the building decided to try twerking and that didn't work out so well. More than that, well-” She put her leg out, blocking a passing tech. “Monty. You're a smarty in the sciencey stuff. Explain.”

He sighed. “Localized spacial wormhole generated through-” 

“Support staff words not science staff words,” Darcy said.

“We poked a hole in the fabric of space and time,” Monty said. “And lost some shit. But hey. We ended up with some other universe's shit, so, equivalent shit exchange.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, lowering her leg like a drawbridge. “You may return to your duties.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“I accept my new position as your benevolent queen,” Darcy said. Monty let out a snort of disdain, but he was smiling as he headed after the rest of the staff. Darcy waved one elegant hand at his back.

“'We poked a hole in the fabric of space and time,'” Harris repeated. “Right.” He looked at Darcy. “Should be worried about this?”

“There is no 'we' here,” Tony said from behind him, the voice of doom, and Harris jumped.

“Could you be any more creepy?” Harris snapped. “Seriously. How do you do that?”

Tony pointed a finger at him. “I work at it.” 

“You should not,” Harris said. He gestured at the remains of the workshop. “So. You blew up reality.”

“Oh, here we go,” Darcy groaned, her head falling back.

“I did not. Blow up. Reality,” Tony said, his eyes narrowed. 

Harris nodded, not particularly impressed. “Did Reed Richards blow up reality?”

“Well, he damn well blew up my workshop.” 

“You really shouldn't agree to help him with stuff,” Darcy said.

“I didn't agree to anything, I just forgot to lock my front door, and he dropped off something for me to help with, he just forgot to ask if I had any time, inclination or intention of helping him with something. So I ignored his little package and that resulted in my workshop getting blown up.” Tony picked up a twisted hunk of metal, something that might've been a piece of a machine at some point in the not to distant past. “And it appears he hit at least two or three other Tony Stark's workshops, too.” He held it up. “I might steal some ideas from this one.” He leaned in, his gaze going sharp. “This one is worth stealing from.”

“There was also a nice pair of high heels,” Darcy said. She held out her foot. “So one of those Tony Stark's might be a lady. Or a fella with good taste and teeeeeeeny tiny feet.”

Harris considered them. “Good for that Tony Stark.”

“I know, right? I'm keeping them.” Darcy considered the strappy little bright red stilettos. “These are nice.”

“Those are evidence,” Coulson said, crossing the workshop. 

“Evidence of what? Reed's ineptitude?” Darcy asked. Coulson reached into his jacket and pulled out an evidence bag. He opened it with a snap of his wrist and held it just below her foot. Darcy let out a whine. “You've got to be kidding me!”

“He's incapable,” Tony said. He rotated the piece in his hands. “Huh, maybe-” Coulson reached out, and without looking, snatched it out of his hand. For a moment, Tony just stared at the empty air where it used to be. “This is because of the 'incapable of joking' thing, isn't it?”

“I thought it was a very funny joke.” Coulson dropped the metal into the bag and sealed it. “Not my fault you don't have a sense of humor.” 

“He holds a grudge,” Tony said.

“Is it safe to be here?” Harris asked. “What with the, you know, Mr. Fantastic sized holes in our universe?”

“Mostly patched,” Tony said. There was a small explosion, and a shower of sparks from the ceiling.

“Mostly,” Harris said, his heart in his throat.

“Stick around, you'll get jaded enough that you'll accept 'mostly' as SOP,” Darcy said.

“You can feel free to move out any time,” Tony told her.

“Keep blowing up the floor under my bed, and I just might,” Darcy said. “And then you will cry. There will be tears.”

“Back to the topic of how we're about to die,” Harris said.

“The device that Richards dumped on me burnt itself out,” Tony said. “It's slag. Useless.”

“It melted,” Darcy said. “On a molecular level, apparently.”

“So Jarvis is mostly offline, I lost a chunk of my newest armor prototype, two charging stations and a bot, there's mystery machine melded with my floor, SHIELD is having a field day at my expense, the Roombas are on cloud nine, and Reed isn't taking my calls.”

“We're pretty sure he's in Atlantis,” Coulson said. 

“Other than that, the Tower's still structurally sound, everyone lived through the most recent disaster, and Thor remembered to put on pants before responding to the alarms,” Tony said. “So most of the disasters averted.”

“Wonderful. Can I leave now?” Harris asked. 

“No,” Coulson said.

“Doubly wonderful.” Harris pointed at the case. “As requested, special delivery from SHIELD science.”

“Thank you, Mr. MacIntyre.” Coulson opened it. It was empty. He dropped the evidence bag in there and held out a hand to Darcy. With sigh, she pulled off the shoes and handed them to him, one and then the other.

“It was empty?” Harris asked, staring at it. “Why did I bring an empty case-”

“It was a red herring,” Coulson said, shutting the case. “Let's go, Stark. Ms. Lewis, please brief him.”

And just like that, Harris found himself alone in the remains of the workshop with Darcy and about thirty very enthusiastic Roombas.

“What just happened?” he asked. Mostly to Darcy, because he was pretty sure that the Roombas wouldn't answer. Pretty sure. Okay, not sure at all.

“You got played,” she said, and her smile had a hint of pity. “The Avengers are going to Atlantis as soon as they're fully assembled. Cap and a few of the others were outta town. The fact that Richards left a portable wormhole behind and then disappeared off the face of the earth, well, the powers that be consider that either A. a problem or B. a cry for help. Maybe both!”

“Okay,” Harris said, drawing the word out. “Which does not explain why I am here...”

“Well, Jarvis is kind of cuckoo bananas, so we need someone unflappable to ride herd on the Roombas,” Darcy explained. She twisted around, reaching to the side. When she turned back to Harris, she was holding a broom. “Your name came up.”

“Why does that keep happening?” Harris asked.

“I'm assuming one of your ancestors did something unforgivable to a nice old lady in the deep woods,” Darcy said, tapping a finger against her lips. “That was a mistake.” She patted him lightly on the shoulder. “But if you decided to go on a quest to break your curse, let me know.”

“You'll come with me?”

“Hell no,that sounds dangerous.” She grinned at him. “But I'll totally text you.”

“I appreciate that,” Harris said, and he kind of did. Weird. Stockholm syndrome kicked in faster than he'd thought it would. He looked around. “So. What do I do?”

“Try to keep them from eating anything bigger than their filters,” Darcy said. “And if they get too close to the doors, use the broom to shoo them back into the workshop. If any of them start vomit beeping-”

“Wait, what-”

“You'll know it when you hear it, it's like this beeping that is interrupted by a mechanical BLAAAAAAH,” Darcy said.

Harris' fingers locked on the broom. “What?”

“You'll know it when you hear it.” She shuddered. “You will TOTALLY know it when you hear it.” She held up a hand and snapped her fingers. “I require a chariot!” A Roomba wandered past, and Darcy hopped down from the workbench, landing neatly on top of it. The Roomba didn't seem to notice. “Look, Harris, it's not that complicated. Sit here, scold the Roombas, hit one with a broom every once in a while so that they know you mean business, and wait for Jarvis to come back online.”

“Any idea how long it'll be before that happens?” Harris asked, hugging his broom.

She made a see-saw motion with one hand. “Smart people are working on it.”

“Not comforting.” The Roomba wondered off, carrying Darcy along with it. Harris watched her go. “So, what, you're just going to leave me here to die?”

Darcy's hands went to her hips. “Harrison MacIntyre, there have been like twenty people in this room since the whole thing happened, there is nothing here but a whole bunch of confused bots. Sit your ass down and wield your broom like the badass you are.” Near the door, Darcy stepped off of the Roomba. “I gotta go check on Jane, her stuff is delicate and this was...” She made a face. “Hulk in a china shop.”

“If I die here, I will haunt you,” Harris called after her.

Darcy blew him a kiss. “I'll take my chances,” she said, cheerfully. And with that, she was out the door and gone and Harris was left with a broom and a bunch of bots.

He took a seat. “I specifically did not take a job at StarkIndustries for this exact reason,” he said, to a passing Roomba. “I am not built for this. I don't have the constitution for this.” The Roomba rotated on its wheels, beeping erratically. Harris reached out with his broom, poking the Roomba with the end of the handle. “Hey there, are you-”

The noise it made was horrific, and he sighed. “Ah, so that's a vomit beep,” he said, resigned. Rolling to his feet, he picked the thing up. “I'm just going to hide you in the wreckage now.”

But the beeping was sad and pathetic, and Harris spent far too long trying to get the stuck, overloaded filter free of the Roomba's undercarriage, ignoring the way that it coughed up dust and dirt all over him every ninety seconds or so. After that one, there was another, and another, and another, and when he finally sat down again, almost all of the Roombas were safely stuffed back into their charging stations.

“I hate this job,” Harris said, and a small sound had him reaching for his broom again. “Someone's getting a brooming!” he yelled, even if he had no idea what or who it was.

Across the workshop, two of the helper bots were leaning low, their cameras angled at the space beneath a broken workbench. Curious, Harris watched as they jockeyed for space, for angles, rolling around each other, their arms dipping low and coming back up, as if they were trying to understand something that was of interest to them.

“Guys?” Harris called. “What are you doing?”

The two bots straightened up, as one, they turned and looked in Harris' direction. Then then twisted back around, their cameras dipping low. Harris slid off of the bench. “Guys?” he called again. “What are you looking at?”

The bots turned back to him, and in the silence that followed, a soft scraping noise was startlingly loud. Harris jerked, his fingers twisting compulsively on the handle of the broom. For an instant, the bots looked at him, and then, they went back to looking into the shallow space beneath the workbench. 

“Okay, shouldn't be doing this,” Harris muttered, already moving across the workshop, picking his way through the rubble. “Should not be-” He crept forward another step anyway, one hand braced on the edge of a damaged workbench. “Really should not.”

There was no reply. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or worried by that. He shifted the broom in his hands, holding it like a sword in front of him. “Back off, guys,” he said, his voice quiet. You and Butterfingers looked at him, then at each other, and finally rolled backwards, out of his way. 

The scuffling noise came again, and Harris sucked in a breath. Harris leaned over, his mouth dry, his heart pounding in his chest. “Whatever you are,” he said, peering into the shadows, “please don't eat me.”

Big dark eyes blinked back at him, and for a moment, that's all he could see, big eyes in a pale moon of a face, the eyes almost too big for that little form. Harris stared. The eyes stared back. “Don't eat me,” Harris said, the broom held in a deathgrip.

And there was a small, almost inaudible giggle.

“Okay, good, giggling means no consuming my flesh, right? Unless you're toying with me.” Carefully, Harris crouched down. “Are you toying with me? You might be toying with me.” 

The tiny form hunched back into the shadows, his little feet scraping against the floor as he shoved himself into the small, dirty corner. He pulled his legs up in front of him, wrapping his arms tight around them, his eyes peering over the top of his knees.

“Apparently not.” Harris sat down on the floor, folding his legs under him. “It's okay,” he said, trying to smile. “It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you.” Behind him, Butterfingers shifted, servos whirring as he peered over Harris' shoulder. The boy's eyes darted in the bot's direction, and Harris reached up. “He's big, isn't he?” Harris tipped his head back. “But he won't hurt you. I promise. He's just curious.”

Butterfingers leaned in, and to Harris' surprise, the boy reached out, patting the bot lightly on his camera. Apparently pleased with that, Butterfingers retreated, rolling away across the floor.

“You're a tough kid,” Harris said. He leaned over. “My name's Harris. Will you tell me your name? Or tell me what I can call you?”

The boy took a breath, and another, his small form flexing with the force of it. “DJ,” he said, pronouncing the two letters with sharp precision. He stopped, swallowed. “DJ Stark.” He looked at Harris, little white teeth digging into his bottom lip, tears filling his eyes. “I'm...” He stopped, his mouth working silently. His eyes closed, two fat tears rolling down the curves of his cheeks. “I'm... Lost.”

Harris' mouth opened, then closed. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes. You are.”

*

“We have this under control.”

“You really like to say that, Agent,” Tony said. He scraped a hand over his face, exhaustion tugging hard at the edges of his consciousness. He leaned against the counter, wondering if it would be undignified to drink directly from the coffee pot. It wasn't that he cared over much about his dignity, it was more that he knew that Phil would never, ever let him live it down.

He could wait.

“I do, yes,” Phil said, unruffled. 

“I'd find it more comforting if I actually believed it,” Tony pointed out. He gave the coffee pot a look. It bubbled along at exactly the same speed. He wished he could program a healthy sense of fear into something. Anything. Everything should be intimidated by his very presence. Or at least the bots should be. He'd given up on cultivating it in people.

“This may shock you, Stark, but my primary purpose here is not to comfort you.”

“Well, it should be somewhere on the list,” Tony said. “You have a lot of purposes, I know, I pay attention, and more than that, I'm rich and important, you should spend some of your time humoring me.”

“I humor you on a daily basis by not clubbing you over the head with the grip of my sidearm,” Phil said. “That's about all the 'humoring' I can manage.” He didn't look up from his tablet, his fingers working steadily through the files. “How much of the building was affected?

“More than I'd like, less than feared. And I really think I deserve more than a lack of physical violence,” Tony said, enlarging the schematic he was working on with an expansive gesture across the face of his tablet. “That seems like a very low threshold you've set for our relationship. I think you can do better.”

“It's harder than you might think.” Coulson fished his phone out of his pocket, checking it with hooded eyes. “There's a support group.”

“It's nice that you're trying to make friends, I'm very pleased that I can facilitate this.”

“Wow,” Steve said from the doorway. “You're both in rare form today.” As Tony glanced over, Steve braced a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile tipping his lips up. “This is some dry humor happening in here.”

“We have to amuse ourselves somehow,” Tony pointed out, a smile curling his lips. 

“Better than the way you usually amuse yourselves.” 

“That's a judging tone to your voice, Captain America, I hear judgment, and I'm not entirely certain that it's deserved.” Tony tossed his tablet to the side and reached for the coffee pot. 

“You don't think it's deserved?” Steve asked, grinning. “Considering I leave for one day and you blow up the building?”

Phil pointed in Tony's direction. “He blew up the building.”

“Reed Richards blew up the building,” Tony said. He spread his arms wide, nearly spilling his coffee. “And this is what I get? Building got blown up, I don't even get a text, checking to see if I'm intact? It's unkind, and this relationship is steadily going downhill.”

“He's big on relationships today,” Phil told Steve.

“Considering that he usually avoids even the word, I'll take that as an encouraging sign,” Steve said. He pushed himself away from the wall, crossing the floor towards Tony. “And SHIELD sent me a sitrep.”

“You trusted SHIELD? Bad form. Not even a text,” Tony said.

“I called. You spent ten minutes ranting about what you were going to do to Reed when you caught up with him, and I gotta say, even as stretchy as the man is, I don't think some of those things are anatomically possible,” Steve said, reaching out to brush Tony's hair away from his forehead, “and then you hung up on me.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “That was you?” he asked after a second.

Steve grinned, his eyes dancing. “Pretty sure that was me, Tony.”

“I really thought that was Rhodey,” Tony mused. “You sounded like Rhodey. In my defense. You had that note. In your voice, that note that he usually gets, when he disapproves of my life choices and the ways that I have chosen to deal with those life choices.”

“After you blow up the building?” Steve asked, and leaned in for a kiss. Tony couldn't hold back a smile, even as he returned it. 

“I don't want to keep repeating this,” he said, when Steve finally pulled away, “but-”

“Reed blew up the building,” all three men said at once.

“You can be taught!” Tony said, and held still long enough for Steve to press another kiss to his lips. “Seriously. Thought you were Rhodey.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Steve said.

“You would.”

“Well, it does make it easier for the two of us to tag team you,” Steve mused. But his eyes were serious when he looked at Tony. “Tell me you're okay.”

Tony waved that off. “I'm fine.” Steve gave him a look, and he grinned. “Wasn't even in the workshop when it decided to go wormhole on us, and neither was anyone else. You had Romanov and Banner in the field with you, Thor and Barton and Senor Spooky over here all somehow managed to put on pants before responding to the alarms-”

“The new house rules are working,” Steve mused.

“And I appreciate that,” Tony said. “It's the niceties that make this living situation work.”

“Big talk from a man who showed up in a red silk smoking jacket,” Phil said.

“But I was not smoking, it's an important distinction.” Tony spread his hands wide, grinning. “As Phil likes to say, we have this under control.”

That's when the alarms went off.

“See, this is why no one trusts you,” Tony said to Phil, even as Steve shot out of the kitchen, running full speed for the stairs.

“It's the truth unless you're around,” Phil said, pulling his phone out. He moved fast when he wanted to. “Where?”

“Well, I'm guessing it's the workshop,” Tony said, as the both of them took off after Steve. The alarms whined, and Jarvis was still off line, so this had been manually triggered by someone. “Shit, shit, shit, Harris-”

Phil hit speaker on his phone. “Repeat that,” he snapped.

“We have an intruder, unknown origin,” said the agent on the other end of the connection, brisk and tight. “Agent Kalas intercepted it leaving the workshop, tried to contain it. It's escaped, we've scrambled teams to secure all exits.”

“It came through the wormhole?” Phil asked, as they slammed into the stairwell.

“We believe so, sir.” A beat of a pause. “Orders sir?”

“Give me last known coordinates.” As the agent rattled it off, Tony sprinted down the stairs.

“We're not far from there, two floors down, we should be able to head it off before it reaches the stairwell,” he said. “Contact Cap, tell him to work his way around the floor, see if we can't surround it.”

“What kind of a threat are we looking at here?” Phil asked.

“Unknown. Target has not evidenced violent tendencies, it has only attempted to elude agents in pursuit.”

“Understood. Stand by to intercept.” Phil hopped over the railing, dropping down to the next landing. He braced a hand on the door, his free hand resting on his pistol grip. He locked eyes with Tony, then, when Tony nodded, threw the door open.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. He was pretty sure that whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been a child.

That's what he got, though, a small, awkward little boy with dark hair and huge, dark eyes, his feet bare and his pants ripped at the knee, maybe seven or eight years old. He stared up at Tony, his arms wrapped tight around the casing of a Roomba. For a moment, he just stood there, staring, and Tony stared back, fighting a strange sense of deja vu.

“Hello there,” Phil said, his voice soft and calm. “It's all right, son-”

The boy's face scrunched up, his mouth twisting, and he turned, dropping the Roomba. It clattered against the floor, rolling along its edge before falling flat onto its wheels. Finding the floor to be adequately clean, it rose, repulsors humming as it left the ground. Almost before it was stable, the boy took two running steps, his feet leaving the ground and coming back down on top of the Roomba's casing. For an instant, it hummed, swinging from side to side as it adjusted to its burden, and then it was off like a shot. 

Tony stared at the spot where they had just been. “Was that a kid?” he asked, and he was aware he sounded STUPID, absolutely STUPID. “Was that a fucking KID?”

“It would appear so,” Phil said, and he was running, his feet flying over the floor, giving chase. 

“Was that a fucking kid using my fucking Roomba like a fucking FLYING SKATEBOARD?” Tony howled.

“Yes. That appears to be exactly what it was,” Phil said.

“Where is he going?” Tony asked, amazed at how fast the kid was moving. He had the Roomba, of course, he had that advantage. But there was no pause, no hesitation. He knew where he was going, he knew the layout, he knew where to go.

And Tony answered his own question. “Back to the workshop. Coulson, he's heading back.”

Phil nodded, bringing his phone up. “All agents, converge on the workshop, hold the perimeters, do not engage. I repeat, DO NOT ENGAGE. Use of force is not authorized, keep your sidearms holstered at all times until you receive new orders.” He was running full out, Tony right on his heels. “If I see one gun, I will have every one of you busted down to crossing guards.”

“Effective,” Tony said, and the kid took a corner so fast that he clipped the wall, the casing scraping up against it. The Roomba wobbled, and the kid's arms went out, desperately trying to find his balance again. But the Roomba tipped to the side, and the boy went crashing into the floor, hard enough to drive the breath out of him.

“I need a medical team up here,” Phil said, but the kid was already rolling, pushing himself up to his hands and knees.

“DJ!”

Tony jerked backwards, startled, as Harris came running up the hall from the other direction. He had a broom in his hands, and a SHIELD agent right behind him. “Jeez,” Harris said, as the kid scrambled up, making a beeline straight for him. “Don't run off like that! You could've-”

“Step away from it,” Agent Kalas said, his voice tense.

“Kalas-” Phil started.

Tony stared at him. “Is that a taser? What, you're going to tase a little kid?” To Phil, he said, “What is wrong with your organization, really, can you spend more than five minutes with a civilian without trying to fry them? Seriously?”

Harris stepped in front of the kid, his arms spread wide. “Are you out of your mind?” he yelled. “Are you- It's a KID!”

“You don't know that,” Agent Kalas snapped. “You don't-” He shifted forward, and Harris brought his broom up, shoving it right in his face. Kalas recoiled, his face twisting in disgust.

Harris' smile was savage. “I will give you such a brooming, I swear, I you will be spitting out bristles for a month, do not try me!”

“Both of you, lower your weapons. Right now,” Phil said, because Phil was the voice of reason, the words crisp and clear and calm. And he was obeyed, as he almost always was. Kalas lowered his taser and Harris lowered his broom, his thin shoulders rising and falling with the force of his breathing. Phil's eyes went from one to the other. “Right. What is going on here?”

Harris opened his mouth, and Kalas opened his mouth, and apparently the kid decided he was done talking. He made a break for it, and for the Roomba that was now smoothing its way across the hallway floor.

“Hey, no, don't-” Harris started, making a grab for the boy, but the kid ducked under his grasping fingers. The Rooma's repulsor whined as the kid jammed one bare heel against the marble floor, sweeping it in a wide angle, staying just out of Harris' reach.

His head swung towards Phil and Tony, and then he swung the Roomba in the other direction, sending it shooting up the hall. Before any of them could react, Steve stepped out from behind the corner, directly in the boy's path. The kid dodged, swinging to the side, and Steve reached out, one big hand swinging through the air in a red blur. He snagged the boy by the back of the shirt, lifting him up and away. The Roomba, freed of its burden, went spiraling through the air and crashed into the wall with a bang.

“Don't do that,” Steve said, in the sudden, startled silence that followed. Gently, he lowered the boy, setting him back on his feet. The boy crumbled, folding himself into a ball, his arms around his upthrust knees, his face buried there. Steve crouched down. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “Hey, it's all right. No one's going to hurt you. I just don't want you to hurt yourself.”

The boy didn't say anything, didn't move, and Steve looked up at Tony. Tony shrugged, helpless. “Harris, tell me know know what's going on here,” he said. He hoped it didn't sound like a plea.

“I found him in the workshop,” Harris said, his voice tight. “I found him hiding underneath one of the workbenches. I was bringing him out to Coulson when Trigger McGee here decided he was a threat.”

“You don't know what he is-” Kalas started, and Harris leaned forward, his fingers white knuckled on the handle of his broom.

“Know what I know?” he snapped back. “I know that he's been hiding in a pile of wreckage for like twelve hours, and that does not speak well for your team's ability to figure out what constitutes a threat. 'Cause you can't even FIND ANYTHING THAT MIGHT COUNT AS ONE.”

Kalas took a step forward. “Look, you little-”

“He's not wrong,” Tony said, and Kalas' face was an unhealthy sort of reddish purple. It was almost funny. “And he just took you out with the broom that we keep to beat on the Roombas, and that kind of puts you in their category. So sit down, and shut up, junior.”

“Enough,” Phil said. His eyes cut to Kalas. “Lock everything down. Nothing moves until I get there. Understood?”

Kalas' mouth worked, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Steve ignored them all, going down on one knee in front of the boy, bracing his arms on his knee. “Hi,” he said, his voice quiet. “My name's Steve. Are you all right?”

The kid was still curled into himself, but his eyes were locked on the Roomba, which was trying to work its way across the hallway. Slowly, the boy reached out, stilling it. He spread his hands over the Roomba's casing, his fingers stroking over the top. The Roomba was making a confused, panicked beeping sound, and the boy bent over, his back bowing as he folded himself over it. His lips were moving, but Tony had to get closer before he could hear what the boy was saying.

The words were soft and halting. “I broke it.”

“What, the Roomba?” Tony asked, when Steve looked at him. He shrugged, not sure what to do here. “It'll be fine. They aren't the brightest lights in the tower, they crash into things all the time.”

The boy's head dipped lower. “Fix it.”

“Yeah, don't worry about it, kid. I can fix the little guy, seriously, it's not a big deal.” Tony wished he knew what to do here. “Here, just give me-”

The kid's head came up, and Tony stared down into very, very familiar brown eyes. “I fix. What I break,” the kid said, fierce and full of anger, and Tony's stomach dropped.

“Well, shit,” he said, his voice thin.

The kid scowled at him. “Not my dad.” He blinked, and a tear slid down his cheek. “You. Are not my dad.”

Tony took a breath. It hurt more than he thought it would. “No. I'm not.”

The boy looked back down at the Roomba. “I know.” He took a breath, his thin shoulders flexing. “I know. You aren't my dad.” He pushed himself up, and he was shaking, his legs wobbling. “I can fix this.”

“Thank god there's something here we can fix,” Tony said. “Okay. Workshop. All of you.”

*

“I can't believe how much he looks like Tony.”

“Do me a favor. Don't bring that up.” Steve said to Bruce. It took more effort than he cared to acknowledge to tear his eyes away from the little boy who was currently perched on one of Tony's highest bench stools, his fingers careful and assured as he went through the process of disassembling the Roomba. No one had given him any instruction, Tony had barely had time to give the boy a tray of tools before he was popping the casing off.

Now, he was half-crouched on the stool, the heels of his feet caught on the edge of the seat, his arms stretched around his knees to do his work. Harris, his broom now resting on his knees, sat next to him, just watching, his eyes wide. 

Bruce paused next Steve, his arms wrapped around a clipboard. “He's, uh, he's not handling this well, I take it?” he asked with a faint smile. 

“Well,” Steve said, drawing the word out, “considering the situation, I think he's bearing up pretty darn well. He tell you what's going on?”

“I got the condensed version,” Bruce admitted. He stared at the boy, his brow creasing. “I'm starting to suspect it was the highly condensed version.”

“I'm not sure we've got an uncondensed version, to be honest,” Steve said. “Things are still a little... Complicated.”

Bruce nodded. “I'm... Getting that.”

“So Tony's dealing with Jarvis, Phil's dealing with SHIELD, and Harris is dealing with our new guest,” Steve said. 

“And you're guarding the door?”

“It's a tough job,” Steve said with a tight smile. “But someone's gotta do it, and I guess I was nominated.” There hadn't been much of a discussion. Tony had rattled around the workshop, making busy work for a few minutes, then had headed for the door, muttering something about getting Jarvis back online. Steve hadn't tried to stop him, or even talk to him. He could recognize the signs of Tony in full shut-down mode, and he'd learned through long, painful experience when it was safer, and smarter, to give him a little space.

And since the boy seemed far more comfortable in Harris' company than he was with either of them, Steve had followed Tony out. Tony had disappeared up the hallway without a backward glance, but Steve had stopped here, right outside the door. For some reason, he couldn't seem to move any further away.

It seemed wrong to desert the boy, somehow.

Steve nodded at the tablet. “So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?”

Bruce looked down at it. “Congratulations,” he said, his smile tugging up on one side. “It's a boy. And most likely, yes. He is a Stark.”

“Most likely?”

They both turned, Steve straightening up as Fury strode up the hall, Phil just a step behind. “Director,” he said, with a nod.

“Would it be too much to ask for that you all keep things less weird for a day or so?” Fury asked, arching an eyebrow at them both. “I got other things to do then figuring out how the Avengers broke the laws of physics this time. As opposed to all the other times.”

Steve shook his head. “This one might have some extenuating circumstances.”

Fury let out a snort. “Rogers, after a while, 'extenuating circumstances' start to look like SOP.”

“Doesn't mean it's not true,” Steve said with a faint smile. He glanced back, the movement almost compulsive now, to check on the child. 

“Yeah, I heard Stark's theory about how we should be bum rushing the Baxter building right about now, but I got my doubts. We sent Romanov and Barton to roust him anyway, see what he has to say about things.” 

Steve looked at Phil. “Is that the best idea?” he asked. “Clint and Reed don't exactly have a cordial working relationship.”

“Clint does spend much of his time drawing a bead on the back of Reed's neck with whatever weapon he's got handy,” Phil said. He smiled, just a little. “But he hasn't shot him yet.”

“And he's got a remarkable talent for finding Richards when he doesn't want to be found. So we gave him the job. Romanov'll keep him in line. She's good at that. Makes it look like she's having fun doing it.” Fury rested an arm on the glass windows surrounding the workshop, leaning into it. “So, this is the newest resident of New York, huh? What'd you mean, he's most likely a Stark?”

Bruce shifted his weight, rocking forward and back, a nervous twitch of movement. “Genetic scan's pretty basic,” he said, his voice quiet. “Jarvis is still, uh, a little spotty, Tony's working on that now, but we have some data to work with.” He glanced up at Phil. “SHIELD's stuff's a little better than the Tower's sensors, but we don't want to panic the kid, so... It's basic.”

He sucked in a breath. “Even so. He's got definite correlations with Tony's genetic structure. Or a version of it. We have to assume, his, well, his-” Bruce pulled his glasses off. “His Tony probably isn't one hundred percent identical to ours. That being said-”

“That being said,” Steve interrupted, “I've seen pictures of Tony at that age.” His head tipped towards the windows. The boy was still working, his head tipped to the side and something almost like a smile on his face. There was something dark, probably oil or some other lubricant, smeared on the inside of his wrist and on the bottom of his jaw. Every so often, he ran his fingers over some small piece of the Roomba, his head bent low. Steve sucked in a breath, refusing to acknowledge the ache beneath his breast bone. “And he looks like he stepped out of one of them.”

Fury nodded. “He does have a certain familiarity.” He pushed himself upright. “But it is a kid? Normal, human kid?”

Bruce blinked. “As far as I can tell,” he said. He tucked the tablet under his arm, then almost immediately switched it to his other side. “Why do you-”

“Because we did run a scan on the workshop immediately after the event,” Phil said, his voice quiet. “With Jarvis offline, it seemed prudent. We did a general sweep before allowing any long term access, and then the first team through the doors went over that room with a far more sensitive device.”

“We're talking something designed to pick up foreign threats,” Fury added. “Including things as small as insects. We're justifiably a bit confused as to why we didn't manage to detect something this big.” He ran a hand over the smooth skin of his head. “Couple of reasons why that might be, and I don't like any of them.”

“We've sent for an expert, he should be here soon,” Phil said.

“Expert?” Steve asked. “Who-”

The elevator dinged, and he glanced over, just in time to see Thor step off, Tony trailing reluctantly along behind him. Steve looked back at Fury. “Thor?”

Fury checked his watch. “No, Thor's just here to watch Tony.” His eye narrowed. “He's late, to be honest, I was expecting he'd beat us-”

There was a flicker of light, not quite a flash, like a light bulb filament preparing to go out, and then Stephen Strange was there next to them, dusting his hands together. “So sorry,” he said with a bright smile. “Traffic was simply beastly.”

“You're from Philadelphia,” Tony said, and Thor had a faint smile on his face as he grabbed hold of Tony's shoulder with one big hand. “Right? You do remember that? That you're not actually a British dandy?”

“Tony! Charming as ever,” Strange said, grinning at him without a trace of shame. “Now, I'd ask why I'm here, but I really don't need to.” His head tipped back, his dark eyes going sharp. “Do I?” 

“Was hoping to skip the explanations,” Fury said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Magic?”

“Quite a bit of it,” Strange agreed, his nose wrinkling. He turned towards the glass walls, his jacket swirling around him. It seemed to hover in the air around him for a moment, moving with some unseen wind. He brought up one hand, pale light curling through the air in the wake of the movement. “Some of it very familiar.” His eyes closed, his fingers flicking through the air, weaving the light like a thread. It wrapped around his fingers, sliding across his skin.

“How familiar?” Tony asked.

“I'm likely the one that put it there.” He paused. “Or a version of me.” His head tipped in their direction. “This whole thing is likely going to get very complicated, very quickly.”

“Think it already is,” Steve said. Tony was doing everything possible to avoid looking into the workshop, and Steve wished he could read the expression on his face. 

Strange's fingers snapped shut, light disappearing into the hallow of his palm. “It's going to get worse,” he said, his voice flat. “That child is carrying quite a bit of magic.”

“Sorcerer?” Phil asked.

“No. It's passive. I don't think he's channeling, and I doubt that he can use it, but it's laid on him like a heavy coat.” Strange frowned, his mouth going tight. “No. That's not quite right. A coat is limited, it weighs a child down, it doesn't protect properly. He's... Been dressed in layers. Dozens of them. Thin, light layers, one on top of another. Take one away, shed or lose one, and he is still protected, far better than he would be with one great clunky coat. However, this is delicate work. Someone has poured a great deal of time and energy and effort into this child.” He turned again, reaching for the door. “I think it's best if I have a word with the young man.”

“Try not to frighten him,” Steve said.

“I shall be the soul of courtesy,” Strange agreed, as Tony hit the keypad, releasing the locks.

Harris, who was angled in their direction, saw them coming. “Hey,” he said, bringing the boy's head up. “We've got company. Want to say hi?”

The boy looked up, following Harris' gesture in their direction, and his eyes went wide. He shoved forward, hard, launching himself off of the stool. The movement was so abrupt and so violent that the stool went clattering to the ground, but he landed solidly on both feet, and he was running almost they were under him again. He made a beeline straight for Strange, skidding to a stop right in front of him.

“Home?” he asked, his face lit with a grin.

For an instant, Steve didn't understand, and it was clear that Strange didn't, either. Then, his eyes closed, just for a moment, and he crouched down. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice gentle. “I take it you know me, but this is my first time meeting you, so I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

The boy stared at him, his fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt. He tugged hard, his teeth digging into his lower lip. There was an open, naked plea on his face, but his smile was already gone. He looked back, checking to see if Harris was still there behind him. “DJ,” he said, his voice small. “DJ Stark.” 

“I'm pleased to meet you, DJ,” Strange said with a smile. “I'm Doctor Stephen Strange.”

DJ blinked at him, his mouth tucking down at the corners. “I know.”

Strange nodded, tapping a finger against his lips. “You carry a little magic with you,” he said. “Did you know that?” DJ nodded, and Strange let out a breath. “Ah, good. That makes it easier.” He leaned in. “I'd like to take a closer look, would that be all right?”

Again, DJ looked back at Harris. Harris smiled. “Wanna sit at the workbench?” he asked. “Easier for us to do the whole thing there, right? And you like it there?” DJ pointed at him, and Harris nodded. “Want me to come with you? I can do that, if you want, and sit next to you.” He looked at Strange. “Right?”

“Of course.”

DJ considered that. “Okay,” he said at last, and offered Harris a hand. 

Once he was back on the stool, Stephen stepped forward. “Can I ask you a question?” DJ nodded. “Do you know everyone?” Another nod. “Well, that makes the introductions easier. Can you tell me everyone's names?”

Another moment of silent consideration. “Yes.”

When nothing else was forthcoming, Strange bit back a smile. “Will you tell them to me, then?”

DJ's mouth pursed. “Why?” he asked, suspicions heavy in the single word.

Strange folded his legs under him, floating easily in mid-air. “That's fair, I suppose,” he said. “Because I want to know just how similar our worlds are.”

DJ nodded. “Steve,” he said, pointing at Steve, and Steve gave him a reassuring smile. DJ smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Thor.” He pointed, one after the other. “Bruce. Phil. Fury.” He paused, his face crumbling as he looked at Tony. Tony turned to a nearby bench, grabbing a tablet and pulling something up. His head down, he pretended to concentrate on it. DJ's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants, twisting it until his knuckles were white.

“You are quite clever,” Thor said, grinning. “Know us all, then?”

He shook his head. “No. Not all.” He pointed at Harris. “Not Harris.”

“Ah, well, some things are bound to be different.” Strange's hands curled through the air. “Take a deep breath, please, and hold it.” Obligingly, DJ did just that, his small chest expanding with the force of it. “Good boy,” Strange said, his voice coaxing. He reached out with one hand, one finger reaching for DJ's breastbone, a spark of light curling along the length. “This won't hurt at-”

The explosion caught everyone off guard. Even several feet away, the shockwave hit Steve like a ton of bricks, and he stumbled back, grabbing for the nearest bench to keep himself upright. It scraped across the floor, and Tony, already leaning back against a workbench, lost his grip on his tablet. Bruce was knocked off his feet, landing hard on his ass, and even Thor was rocked back on his heels. 

Strange slammed into the far wall with a bone jarring crash.

DJ blinked at them, still sitting calmly on his stool, not so much as a hair out of place. Despite that, a sizzle of light was still tracing along his length. “Shouldn't do that,” he said. Next to him, Harris had been sent crashing to the ground, and DJ peered down at him. “Okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Harris said, stumbling to his feet. Phil, who'd been hanging back with Fury, gave him a hand up. Harris was pale, his eyes wide. “What was that?”

DJ grinned. “Protection,” he said. To Strange, he added, “Bang.”

“Quite the bang,” Strange agreed. He smoothed his hair down, and a curl of energy crackled along the strands. “I think it's best that I remove that. I need to see what's underneath. Underneath all of it.”

DJ shook his head. “No,” he said. “It will-” His face twisted. “No.”

“It won't hurt at all,” Strange said, his voice soothing. “It's just going to be-”

“Hey, don't-” Harris started, and then DJ said something.

Something strange and horrible, like the sound of glass shattering made into words. It was like no language Steve had ever heard before, but it hurt his ears, crackling against his ear drums like a physical blow. He winced, and he wasn't the only one. Beside him, Thor went tense, his face tightening, his hand falling, as if by instinct, on the handle of Mjolnir. 

Stephen pulled back, his eyes going wide. “Now, that,” he said, his fingers sliding over his goatee. “I was not expecting.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “Who taught you that?”

DJ's fingers sank into the fabric of his shirt, his breath thin and rapid. But his voice was steady when he looked up. “You.”

“I see.” Stephen rocked back in his seat, his fingers sliding over his mouth. “Do you know what it means?”

DJ shook his head. “No. You wouldn't tell.”

“Well, that does sound quite a bit like me.” Stephen smiled at him. “You did very well, did I make you practice it?”

“A lot,” DJ said. His eyes darted around and he rocked forward in his chair, the strain showing on his face now. “Good?”

“You did a very good job with it, I understood you perfectly.” Stephen's eyes caught Steve's, then Fury's. “And you told me everything I needed to know.”

“No magic,” DJ said.

“I agree completely,” Stephen said. “Thank you for explaining to me. It was very helpful of you.”

“Want to go and watch a movie with Harris?” Steve asked. DJ nodded, just a little, the tension going out of his shoulders, out of his face, and he latched onto the hand that Harris offered to him like it was a lifeline. 

“Yay! Doctor visit over!” Harris said, and DJ smiled at him. Harris was still looking a little shell-shocked, his eyes wide and his skin pale, but he was game as ever.

“Hey,” Fury said, catching DJ's attention. “Did I tell you anything like that? Something to say to me, if you ever found me in some unfamiliar place?” he asked, crouching down. DJ nodded. “Really.” He grinned. “What was it?”

DJ smiled back. “To only use it, if there was no choice,” he said.

“Now, that sounds like me,” Fury agreed. “Let me know if we get to that point, okay?”

“Okay,” DJ agreed. He turned back to the workbench, and slid the Roomba's case back into place. A few more adjustments, and the bot whirred to life, swirling around on its wheels. DJ leaned over, bracing his chin on the edge of the bench. “Fixed?” he asked.

The Roomba rolled forward and bumped into his face.

“Sorta fixed,” DJ said. He reached for it, and then stilled, his hands on the case. “Can I?” he asked, his eyes finding Tony. Tony nodded, and DJ dragged it off the bench, hugging it to his chest. With Harris' help, he hopped down from the stool, still clutching his prize.

“There's a tv over here,” Steve started, but DJ was already hopping across the workshop. It was clear that he knew exactly where he was going. Steve caught Harris' eye. “You okay with this?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

“Re-accessing my life, I'll be honest, but I think we're okay for now,” Harris said with a tight smile. “Not watching Frozen!” he yelled after DJ. “And if you don't know about Frozen, then we can avoid-”

“Know about Frozen!” DJ called back.

“Dammit.”

Steve chuckled. “We'll be right outside,”he said. “Call if you need us.”

Harris gave him a wave. “Leave the broom. I might need it.”

“Understood.” Steve watched as DJ bounced across the couch, then followed everyone out into the hall. “What did he say?” Steve asked, as soon as the door shut.

“Something that I can't imagine teaching to a child,” Strange said. He folded his arms over his chest, his face tight. “Yet he just spoke in a language only utilized here by myself, and Clea.”

“So either way...”

“Either way, the statement was meant for me, and me alone.”

“Great. What did he say?” Tony asked, his voice tense.

Stephen took a deep breath, his hands folded together in front of his mouth, but didn't say a word. It was Thor who spoke, his head tipped forward, his jaw set. “He said, 'You'll kill me.'”

In the silence that followed, Steve huffed out a breath. “Well, that's not worrying at all.”

“So, what do we do with him?” Tony asked, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You, I mean, it's a kid. There cannot be a kid here. This is, this is absolutely not a place for children.”

Fury's head tipped to the side, just a fraction of an inch, but far enough to glance at Tony out of the corner of his eyes. “Apparently, it is somewhere.”

“Somewhere is not here,” Tony said. He was staring at the glass, his face set, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “We can't-” One hand came up, slicing through the air. “No.”

“I would not recommend removing him,” Strange said. “The magic, whoever laid it, and to what purpose, seems to be tied to this place. To the tower itself. There was-” His eyes narrowed. “A strange sort of reflective aspect to that.” He shook his head. “I would not attempt to take him from this building. It might not end well for DJ, but I can almost promise that it will end very, very poorly for anyone attempting to remove him against his will.” He rolled his shoulder, making a face. “I, for one, will not try it.”

Tony mumbled a curse, and Steve nodded. “Luckily, we've got a few guest rooms.”

“Fuck me,” Tony said. His head fell back against the wall with a thump. “Fuck. Me.”

“Obscene, but accurate,” Strange agreed.

“I'll get the spare sheets,” Steve said.

*

“So.” Harris sucked in an audible breath. “What do you think?”

DJ looked up at him. After a moment of consideration, DJ shrugged, a hapless expression on his face and the Roomba still cradled in his arms. “Yeah,” Harris agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets. “It's... A guest room, I guess.”

The suite was very nice, in a modern sort of way. Harris looked around, feeling out of place already. The main room had an open layout, sparsely furnished with black leather couches and glass tables. There were towering lamps and thick white carpets and marble accents. Everything was stark and sleek and possibly the least kid friendly space he'd ever seen.

Maybe he'd cover everything in sheets or something.

“Bedrooms are in the back,” Coulson said, a bag in one hand. “And the kitchen's through here.” He pushed the door open, leaving them to follow awkwardly behind, DJ bumping into Harris' legs with each step.

Harris glanced around. More marble and chrome, glass and highly polished metal. Coulson seemed to be waiting for some reaction, and he managed a smile. “Tell me it has a coffeemaker.”

“It has a coffeemaker,” Coulson said. “We're not savages.”

Not appearing impressed, DJ crouched down, putting the Roomba on the floor. It made a happy little beeping sound and immediately went whirring off across the floor, searching for some spare bit of dust to feast on. 

“It's not ideal,” Coulson admitted. He set the bag down on the table. “But we don't want to take you out of the building.”

DJ got, if anything, smaller, scrunching down behind the shelter of his knees, his arms wrapped tight around his legs. “Can't leave,” he said.

“You don't have to,” Coulson said. “But you're going to be here at least until tomorrow.” He nodded at the bag. “We got you some pajamas, so you don't have to sleep in your clothes. We want you to be as comfortable as possible. So I'm going to leave a tablet with you and Harris, all right? Can you take a look and pick out some clothes, some food? Things you like.”

There was no response, and Coulson held the tablet out to Harris. “The suite is fully stocked. There's crackers and some basic snack foods in the cabinet, peanut butter, pretzels, that sort of thing. There's cheese, bread, some basic fruits in the fridge. Just let me know what you'd like, and Jarvis can have it couriered over.”

Harris took the tablet, glad to have something to hold onto. “Jarvis is back up?”

“Yes.” Coulson crouched down. “Do you know Jarvis?” he asked, a faint smile on his face. DJ gave him a withering look, and Phil's lips twitched. “I take it that was a stupid question, then.” He looked up. “He didn't want to just start talking, because if you weren't prepared, it might scare you. But I'm sure he'd like to speak to you.” He pushed himself upright. “If you want to talk to him, that is.”

DJ considered that. “Jarvis?” he said, his chin tipping up.

“Hello, DJ,” Jarvis said. “It is very nice to make your acquaintance.”

DJ leaned his chin on his knees. “Missed you,” he said.

“I am sorry, I should have been here to greet you on your arrival, but I was not myself.”

“All right?” DJ asked. His fingers picked at the fabric of his pants. “Now?”

“I am quite well, and it is very kind of you to inquire. I shall be here, for as long as you are with us, so if you need anything, please let me know, and I shall do my utmost to assist you.”

“Want something to eat?” Harris asked. He set the tablet down. “I should eat something, and so should you.” DJ shrugged, and Harris managed a smile. “Want to wash your hands? Or use the bathroom?”

“Yes.” DJ straightened up, heading off without another words. Harris watched him walk out of the kitchen without a glance back.

“Jarvis?” Harris asked.

“I shall watch over him, but he is heading directly for the bathroom. I believe he will not require my assistance.”

“He knows where he's going,” Coulson said, his voice quiet. “The layout must be familiar.” 

“At least someone knows where they're going,” Harris said. He considered sitting down but he was pretty sure that wouldn't end well. He crossed to the fridge instead. “He can give me directions.”

“You've been here before,” Coulson said. He crossed to the cabinets. “Crackers?”

“Sure.” Harris squinted into the fridge, trying to ignore the faint ache behind his temples. He grabbed a plate of cheese and a bag of grapes. “And I've been in Stark Tower before, doesn't mean I know where I am. I spent most of that time dodging Thor.” Tucking a bottle of juice under his arm, he straightened up. “And Agent Barton.” He kicked the fridge door shut “Can you see if there's some sort of nut butter in there?”

“Peanut and almond,” Coulson said, pulling down the jars and setting them on the table. “Mixed nuts, too.”

“Good, let's give it a try. Finger foods. Awesome.” Harris braced a hand on the table, taking a deep breath. “It's late, that should be enough, right?”

“Sit down,” Coulson said. “Before you fall down.”

“I'm fine,” Harris said. “Maybe we can-”

“Sit. Down,” Coulson said, and Harris sat. Coulson shook his head. “Are you sure you're up for this?”

Harris gave him a thumbs up. “Good to go, sir, it's fine, it's-” He looked up. “Who else do we have?”

“We'll find someone,” Coulson said, pulling plates and cups from the cabinet, stepping over the Roomba as he crossed back to the table. “Here. Make up a plate.”

“I don't know what he'll eat.”

“It's not for him, it's for you.” Coulson handed him a sausage and a knife. “Eat.” He took a seat across from Harris. “This situation is unusual. Usually, if SHIELD comes across a child during an investigation or mission, our policy is to remand them over to the state for their own protection.” He paused. “But that won't work in this case. For now, he seems to be comfortable with you, and Jarvis is back up and running to provide twenty-four, seven monitoring, and we've got SHIELD agents who are going to bunk nearby, just in case. Jarvis can get them, or any of us.”

Harris nodded, slicing neat rounds of the sausage. “Hopefully, he'll have something to eat and get some sleep, we can figure out the rest of it tomorrow.”

Coulson was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “You don't have to do this,” he said. “Just because you were the one to find him, that does not make you responsible for him, Harris.”

“Feeling guilty into tricking me into this mess?” Harris asked. He ripped open the crackers, dumping some of them out on the plate. One rolled over the edge of the table, and the Roomba pounced. “Yeah, you're going to eat well,” Harris told it. Glancing up, he found Coulson still studying him. Harris resisted the urge to say something rude. It wouldn't end well for him. “I'm fine,” he said.

“It takes a long time to recover-”

“I'm fine!” Harris popped a cracker into his mouth. It tasted better than it should have, and he reached for the almond butter. “And it's not like I'm contagious.”

“No, you're not.” Coulson stood. “Jarvis is going to monitor your vitals.”

Harris considered objecting. There didn't seem to be much point. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay. He's got my medical files?”

“I have been well briefed on your situation,” Jarvis said. 

“Don't worry, he's discreet,” Phil said.

“I never doubted it,” Harris said. A small noise brought his head around, and he leaned back in his chair. “Hey there,” he said, smiling at DJ. “All set?”

DJ nodded, his bare feet silent as he crossed the floor. He boosted himself up onto a chair, tucking his legs up against his chest. Coulson stood. “You must be tired,” he said, with a smile. “Have something to eat, and get some sleep. Don't worry. We're going to get you home.”

Another nod. “Thank you,” DJ said, the words polite and stilted. He watched the Roomba whir around the room.

Coulson opened his mouth, then closed it with a sigh. “Harris, let us know if you need anything.”

Harris gave him a thumbs up. He was pretty proud that his hand was steady. “I think we both just need some sleep.”

“It will probably do you a world of good,” Coulson said. He gave them a nod and a smile. “Good night. I'll see you both tomorrow.” 

“Night, sir,” Harris said. DJ nodded, his eyes on his feet as Coulson slipped out the door. 

As soon as it shut behind him, DJ looked back at Harris. “Sick?” he asked.

“Heard that, did you?” Taking another plate, he started filling it with a little of everything. “Nope. I was. Now I'm not. But Agent Coulson worries,” Harris said. “He's like that.”

“Yes,” DJ said. He leaned forward, folding his arms on the edge of the table. His eyes tracked Harris' movements, watching carefully as Harris put a few grapes and a stack of crackers on the plate. He reached out, poking at the can of mixed nuts with one finger, and Harris took that as a hint to pop the lid and dump some on the plate. DJ nodded, his eyes darting up to meet Harris'. “He is.”

“Is he like that back home, too?” Harris asked, and that won him a smile and a nod. “I like him. He knows everything, which is a little spooky, but it's comforting spooky, not scary spooky.” 

DJ giggled. “Yes.”

Harris set the plate in front of him. “Eat a little for me, okay?” he asked. “Then I can read a book or something. Or are you too old for bedtime stories?” He slumped back into his seat, reaching for the juice and the glasses. “I like bedtime stories. I can pull something up on the tablet.”

DJ was silent, reaching out with one foot to poke at the Roomba as it rolled by. It paused, sweeping in circles around his chair, apparently hoping to find something he'd dropped. “Have my own,” DJ said, his voice quiet. He reached into his pocket, coming out with a slim little device, about the size of a smart phone, with a red and silver case. “Want to see?”

Harris paused, not quite sure if he should. This felt wrong, like crossing the streams somehow, like he was going to learn to much, about too many things. But DJ was staring at him, his expression filled with something like desperation or need, and Harris smiled. “Sure. Do you have books on there?”

“Some.” DJ scooched his chair in Harris' direction, and Harris steadied it before DJ could tip it over. “But this...”

He pressed his thumb against the screen, and it whirred to life. A pale blue light swept over the screen, rolling over his fingertips, and the the screen lit up. Harris watched, fascinated. “Did your dad make that for you?” he asked, as DJ started flicking through icons.

“Yes.” He grinned. “Here.” 

He held it up, his eyes bright. Harris looked it. “The Stark Family Guide to Proper Sleep Habits: A Bedtime Power Point,” Harris read aloud He looked at DJ. “Okay?”

DJ grinned. “Dad made this, too,” he said. “Want to see?”

Harris chuckled. “Sure.” He glanced at DJ's plate, and DJ obligingly picked up a cracker, then poked the screen.

“Guess what time it is?”

Harris wasn't sure what he was expecting. He'd known that DJ's Tony was, well, Tony, too, but the similarity between the voices was eerie, enough to send a shiver up his spine. It hit him, all of a sudden, how disconcerting this had to be for DJ, to have everything so much alike, and yet, so different.

The recording continued, the slide turning over to a little flash cartoon image of Dummy, You and Butterfingers in the workshop, all of them wearing old fashioned sleep caps and clutching teddy bears and blankets in their claws. The image was capped by a dancing banner that said “Bedtime!” 

“Wow,” Harris said. “He put actual effort into this, didn't he?” DJ nodded, leaning his chin on the edge of the table.

Tony's voice was full of a sort of wry amusement. “It's bed time! And know what that means? I probably have no idea where my kid is. I know where he should be. But I'm gonna take a safe guess and say, he's not there.” He paused. On the screen, the cartoon bots waved their sleep paraphernalia. “Are you? You're not. You're... Somewhere else. Sleeping in ways that I do not approve of. Because you're determined to make me insane. Aren't you?”

“Yep,” DJ said, smiling down at the screen.

“Mean,” Harris told him. DJ gave him an innocent smile, fishing a peanut off of his plate.

“Okay, because we seem to need reminding, and because you like powerpoint presentations, you odd, odd child, let's do it this way.” Tony cleared his throat. “We'll start with some examples, shall we? We shall.”

The image dissolved, and the next slide popped up, a simple photo this time. Natasha was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a tea cup resting on the arm next to her. She had a book in her hand, and a faint smile on her face. DJ was curled up next to her, his head resting on her lap, a blanket tucked around him. Natasha's free hand was stroking his hair, her fingers light on the dark strands.

“Exhibit the first,” Tony's voice continued. “Acceptable. This is an acceptable sleeping possession. It's almost as if being in Natasha's general vicinity results in manners. Doesn't work on me, but not much does. Next slide, please, we're on a schedule here.”

The image switched, to Bruce sitting in a large, comfortable looking armchair. He had a tablet resting in his lap, and there were three coffee cups on the table next to him. He was leaning to the side, his chin braced on a fisted hand, a slight smile on his face. DJ was curled up next to him, leaning against his leg. He was wrapped up tight in a blanket, a smallish child burrito, and Bruce looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“This is not acceptable,” Tony said. “You know that. No floor sleeping. None. Not even a little. We have like, nine hundred places to sleep that are not the floor, I don't know why you are choosing to be a tiny, tiny hobo. Stop doing that. You're making me crazy.”

DJ giggled, his eyes dancing. He was worrying a grape between his fingers, his fingernail digging into the skin, peeling it back.

The next slide was of Steve, lying on his stomach on the floor, his arms folded under his chin, a newspaper spread out in front of him. DJ was asleep, spread-eagled on Steve's back, his arms and legs hanging limp down towards the floor. Steve was smiling, his face full of laughter.

“Here, not only are you very, very close to sleeping on the ground, but you've somehow transmitted your bizarre fascination for floor sleeping to Steve. Steve is highly susceptible to you and your hopeful, hopeful little face, so let's not use that to make things worse for everyone around you, okay? And by 'everyone,' I mean me. Me. I don't need to deal with both of you flopped out like navigationally challenged whales. It hurts me on a physical as well as emotional level.”

“He's got a very expressive turn of phrase,” Harris said as the slide turned over, and DJ grinned up at him, wide and real.

On the screen, Thor was asleep on the couch, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and the other one trailing down to the floor. His legs were over the far end, his feet hanging off into midair. The image was silent, but Harris was pretty sure that judging by the way that his mouth was hanging open, he was snoring like a champ. DJ, meanwhile, was slumped on the back of the couch, one hand flopped onto Thor's head.

“Unacceptable, because you are not a cat,” Tony said. “You... Are not a cat. And you're going to fall off that couch. Either onto the floor, or onto the Asgardian and neither of those are going to work out well for you or my , so let's, let's just not.” He paused. “That cannot be comfortable, kid. It, it just can't.”

“Was it?” Harris asked DJ.

“Enough,” DJ said, grinning.

“Which brings us to this abomination,” Tony said, and the slide turned over.

Harris choked on a laugh, and a mouthful of mixed nuts.

Clint was sprawled out on his back on what appeared to be a kitchen table. He was wearing a pair of battered pants with a rip in one knee, one sock, and the remains of what appeared to be a bowler hat. One hand was still locked around the strap of his quiver, despite the fact that he was clearly asleep. DJ, clad in an adult sized sweatshirt and the other sock, was flopped out on top of him, his head hanging off the edge of the table and his bare foot jammed up under Clint's chin.

“This is the worst, and you- No. Know what?” Tony said. “No. I'm going to allow this.”

“Tony,” another voice said.

“Is that Steve?” Harris asked DJ, who nodded.

“No,” Tony said. “I don't know how this happened, I don't want to know how this happened, but DJ kicks and Clint's about to find that out the hard way. I'm going to approve this because it's going to end with Clint in pain and I'm always in favor of that.”

“Deej, baby, don't sleep on the kitchen table,” Steve said. “And Clint's not allowed to watch you anymore.”

“Yes, he is,” Tony said. “We have date night on Wednesday. Anyway, let's put that in the blackmail file. It's a twofer. I can torment Clint now and you later. Twofer. I like it.”

Steve's sigh was audible. “Tony...”

“Fine, Captain America is making the disapproving face, you know the one, the really effective one that he used on Congress last month, and, anyway, you should be tired by now, right, kid? So the last part is a short instructional video. Roll it,” Tony said, and the slide turned over, the video starting automatically.

The room was pretty much the opposite of the one they were in now, open and bright, with an abundance of brilliantly colored lamps and child sized furniture. Books and electrical components were piled on the desk, and on the big, gear patterned rug. There were drawings tacked to the wall, next to blueprints and pictures and posters of Spider-Man. A huge mobile of the solar system swung in lazy circles, catching the light with every movement. 

There was a bed up against a wall, a clever design of black and gray wood. The bed was on a raised platform, with stairs leading down to the floor. Beneath the bed, there was a pull out duvet or small couch, covered in a robot patterned fabric that could be tucked away when not in use. Now, it was piled high with pillows and toys, and a bizarrely colored little Furby.

“This,” Tony said, in a super serious voice, “is your bed. Remember it? Probably not. You don't spend much time there. Still. Spent a lot of money on this matching candy colored adorableness, let's humor your father and use it. Next, we'll demonstrate how this equipment is supposed to function!”

“I'm not doing this, Tony,” Steve said, wandering into the frame. He gave the camera, and Tony, an exasperated look over his shoulder, even as he pulled the covers down.

“It's an educational documentary,” Tony explained. “Educational. You like educational things.”

“I like it when you're not sassing the small child,” Steve said. He fluffed the pillows with a practiced hand, and grabbed the Furby, setting it next to the pillows. “Deej! Bedtime!”

The video panned to the side, just in time to see a younger looking DJ come hopping into the room, his feet together, his eyes very carefully focused on his bare toes. He hopped from one side to the other, wobbling on the balls of his feet, and threw himself into Steve's waiting arms. Steve scooped him up, hands tucked around DJ's ribcage, DJ's feet kicking in midair.

“One, two, three,” he said, swinging DJ up and down before launching him into the air. Laughing, DJ tumbled through the air, back into Steve's waiting arms. “One, two, three!” Steve chanted again, before tossing him again. 

“This is going to end in vomiting some night,” Tony said.

“You're just jealous that you can't do it,” Steve said, catching DJ and leaning forward to rub their noses together.

“I can do it,” Tony said. He sounded affronted.

“Without the suit?”

“Well, not unless you want me to put my back out, I keep you around to look pretty and do the heavy lifting,” Tony said. “Deej, bed. Scoot, scoot, botbrain.”

“Once more,” DJ said, turning pleading eyes on Steve.

“Once more,” Steve agreed. “One! Two! Three!” Another toss, another catch, but this time, he let DJ roll out of his hands and onto the bed. 

DJ hit with a giggle and bounced, the covers going in all directions. “Once more!”

“Nope,” Steve said, leaning over to press a kiss on DJ's forehead. “Bedtime. No more onces until tomorrow.” He pulled the blankets up, covering DJ despite the way he squirmed, and tucked him in. “There you go,” he said, and he was smiling with easy warmth. “Good night, kiddo. Tell Jarvis if you want to-”

DJ reached past Harris and stopped the playback with the stab of a finger. Surprised, Harris jolted. “Done?” he asked, holding the phone out to DJ.

“Done,” DJ said, his head down. He kicked the leg of the table with one foot, pushing himself back. The chair rocked against the floor, and the Roomba whirred out of the way. He slid down to the floor, jamming his phone back in his pocket. “Bath.”

“Bath before bed? Okay, I can run-”

“If you do not mind, I can do so,” Jarvis said. “Sir has tied me into almost all systems here in the guest room, so I should be happy to assist him with his bath.”

“Yes,” DJ said, a bit too loud. His fingers locked on the fabric of his shirt. “Jarvis, please.”

Harris nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I shall summon you if there is any issue, do not be concerned. If you don't mind, DJ, please collect your pajamas and return to the bathroom, and I shall fill the tub for you,” Jarvis said. “There are bubbles as well, if you should like.”

“Yes, please.” Snagging the bag, DJ gave Harris a smile, then hopped for the door again, bracing a foot on the Roomba on the way past.

Harris exhaled, popping a cracker in his mouth and studying the table. DJ's plate was mostly empty, and Harris sat there, his hands folded on the table. “Hey, Jarvis?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Yes?”

“He was tossing things on the floor when I wasn't paying attention, wasn't he?”

“Yes.”

Harris nodded. “How much of his food ended up in the Roomba?”

There was a pause. “All of it,” Jarvis said.

“Yeah. That's kinda what I thought.” Harris scrubbed his hands over his face. “Great. That's... That's great.” His hands were shaking, and he braced them against his legs, trying to steady himself. “That's probably not good, right? I mean, he's really small. He can't. Just not eat.”

“At this point, I would be more concerned about drinking,” Jarvis said. “He will very quickly become ill if he does not.”

Harris took a deep breath. “Right,” he said. “Right.” Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. “One problem at a time, I guess.”

"That, I fear, would be for the best."


	2. Chapter 2

She was pretty sure that annoying sound was her phone. She was pretty sure she hated her phone.

Darcy fumbled out with one hand. “This better be good,” she mumbled.

“It's probably not,” Harris said, apologetic.

Darcy grinned into her pillow. “Hey,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face. “Not that I'm not pleased to hear from you or anything, but.... I'm not. It's like, three am. I need my beauty sleep.”

“No, you don't, you get any more beautiful and I won't survive it.”

“Aaaaand you are forgiven for waking me up at three am.” She rolled over, yawning. “What do you want, MacIntyre? Is it phone sex? Please be phone sex.”

There was a beat of silence. “It's not. I... Need a sweatshirt,” he admitted at last.

“I'll add that to the Christmas list, which now contains a sweatshirt and a hat with reindeer antlers.”

“Wow.”

“You're hard to shop for,” she said, vaguely apologetic.

“Not that hard, and I can't wait that long. I kind of need one now.”

Darcy paused. Fumbling at the nightstand, she managed to grab her glasses, and force them onto her nose. “It's...” She squinted at the clock. “It really is three am, Harris. And you want me to drive to your place with a sweatshirt?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don't want you to drive to my place with a sweatshirt.”

Darcy wondered if she was actually still asleep. “Then why did you-”

“I'm actually.... In the building.” 

“What building?”

“Your building. Well, Tony's building. The one you live in.” 

Darcy stopped. “You're in this building. This. Building.”

“Yes.” Harris seemed to be struggling to find something to say. “Surprise? Can you get me a sweatshirt now?”

She sat up, because it seemed like that was going to be happening. She might as well give in with dignity. “Harris.”

“Yeah?”

“You are absolute shit at phone sex.”

“I hope you didn't have high hopes on that particular front,” Harris said, and he sounded tired, he sounded EXHAUSTED. “I'm sorry, Darce, I am, but I need your help.”

“Okay,” she said, grabbing a pair of shorts from her dresser. “Let's start over. You need a sweatshirt, what kind of a sweatshirt?”

“A zip up hoodie?” His voice dropped. “Do you have a SHIELD one?”

“No, they are ugly.” Darcy hopped into her shorts, and started digging for a bra. “And expensive. Surprisingly expensive for like, standard issue gear.”

“Okay,” he said. “Can you find me one?”

“I'll do my best, what floor are you on?” She stepped over a pile of clean laundry and a few shoes that she really should put away. “Know what, never mind, I'll ask Jarvis, I don't have the brainpower to process this right now.” She yawned, and stepped out of her apartment. “Be down as soon as I can. You better have a good explanation for this, buster?”

“It's... Complicated.”

“Good. Not complicated.” She cut the connection and bounced her phone on her palm. “Jarvis, is Clint in the building tonight?” 

“Not at this time,” Jarvis said. “Agent Barton is still on active duty this morning, and has not yet returned.”

“Nuts,” Darcy muttered. “That would've been the easiest route, he wouldn't have even asked any questions.” She sighed. “Okay, beggers can't be choosers.” She triggered her phone and went to favorites. She dialed with a flick of her thumb, then leaned against the wall while it rang.

“Mrgncy?”

“Hi,” Darcy said. “No, not an emergency. I need one of your boytoy's sweatshirts.”

“Watmzt?” Jane mumbled.

“It's three am,” Darcy said, her voice breezy. “And in about five minutes, I'm going to be down pounding on your door, so... Give in with dignity.”

“You need what?” Jane asked.

“Hey, words!” Darcy said, forcing herself to start walking. “I need a sweatshirt. A zip up hoodie one.”

“What makes you think Thor has-”

“Because he likes to think he's being sneaky, but he is not, he is not sneaky, he is just a giant Norse dude in a hoodie,” Darcy said. “I know he's got some, so please, just- Can I borrow one?”

“Why?” In the background, Darcy could hear warm, happy Asgardian. “It's Darcy,” Jane said. Another murmur. “Thor says good morning.”

“That boy of yours is too adorable,” Darcy said. She raised her voice. “Hey Thor! I need one of your sweatshirts.”

“Jesus, Darcy,” Jane said. “I'll meet you at the front door, okay? Stop SCREAMING.”

“NO!” Darcy said, and Jane hung up on her. Giggling, she headed down the hall, half falling into the elevator as Jarvis opened the doors for her. “Thank you,” she said. “You are a bro, Jarvis.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Ms. Lewis.”

“You love me,” Darcy said.

“I do, but I fear our relationship must remain strictly professional.”

“I think that I just got friendzoned by the AI who controls my shower temperature,” Darcy mused. “And I'm okay with this.” She pointed a finger at the nearest camera. “Thanks for being my friend, Jarvis. I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate your presence as well. Your floor,” Jarvis said, as the elevator door opened.

“Thank you!” Darcy wandered up the hall, half falling against Jane and Thor's door. She raised a hand to knock. “Jaaaaaaaaaaaane...” she whined.

The door jerked open. Jane, wrapped in a sheet and nothing else, shoved a sweatshirt in Darcy's direction. “You are a horrible person,” she said, her face scrunched up in an expression of righteous indignation.

Darcy considered her. Jane's cheeks were flushed, her hair a tangled mess, and there was a very visible hickey on the delicate line of her throat. “Aren't we looking debauched?” Darcy said, grinning.

Jane's chin came up. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we are. Thank you for noticing. I'm very proud of it.” Still, she hitched the sheet up a little higher, clutching the fabric in one hand between her breasts. “Do you want this or not?”

“One of these days, you're going to have to tell me what Thor-” Darcy started, and Jane threw the sweatshirt at her head. The door shut, and Darcy grinned.

“Thanks! Ride 'em hard, cowgirl!” she called.

“You are horrible!” Jane called back, and Darcy pushed the sweatshirt up, far enough to make kissy noises at the closed door.

“Thanks, Jane!” She said, plodding down the hallway. “Jarvis, where is my idiot boyfriend?”

“Please return to the elevator, and I shall do my best to guide you the rest of the way.”

The trip down to the guest quarters probably took less than five minutes, but it felt like a slog, every step of the way. Darcy plodded on, but by the time she reached the door, the sweatshirt seemed like it weighed a ton. Rather than knocking, she kicked at the door. “Delivery!”

Harris opened the door. “You are a goddess,” he said.

“Bout time you figured that out.” Darcy held up the sweatshirt. “Got the goods. What the hell is going on?” Harris reached for it. She held it behind her, out of reach. “You have to be kidding me,” she said, her voice flat. “You want it? You're going to have to talk. What the hell is going on, Harris?”

He made a face. “I... Don't know if you have clearance,” he said at last.

“I don't know either,” she said. “But I have the sweatshirt you asked for, so wanna explain?”

Harris stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him, his hand clutching the knob. “Look, when you guys had your little mishap? Holes in time and space? You got a nice pair of heels?”

“Which Coulson stole from me, yes, I'm following, can we speed this up?” Darcy asked, leaning against the wall.

Harris swallowed. “The heels weren't the only thing that ended up in the wrong place.” Reaching behind him, he pushed the door open again. Darcy leaned forward, peering around him.

There was a little boy sitting on the couch, his knees drawn up against his chest, rocking back and forth with a stuttering sort of rhythm. Darcy gaped at him, stunned despite herself, and Harris kept going, his voice pitched low and careful. “He's exhausted, but I think he's too scared to go to sleep. I put him in one of the bedrooms a couple of hours ago, but he didn't stay there.”

Darcy grabbed his arm. “Why are YOU-”

“Because he comes from a place a lot like this one, I guess, he knows everyone and he knows the tower, he knows all of the Avengers. But he doesn't know me, so I think, I think I'm less frightening for him,” Harris said. In a few terse, calm sentences, he explained everything, as Darcy just stared at him, struggling to take it all in.

“Wait,” she said, when Harris finally stopped babbling about magic and children and Roombas. “Wait. Why do you want a sweatshirt?”

Harris sucked in a breath. “Because he had this picture, it was- He had a picture of himself, back at home, and he was sleeping in what was clearly an adult sweatshirt. I think it was Clint's. I thought maybe it would help. If it was something that seemed a little more familiar, that's all.” He shoved a hand through his hair, his expression strained. “I was out of ideas, Darce, I just thought...” His words trailed away. “He needs to relax enough to sleep, and I don't know how to make him do it.”

“Want me to try?” Darcy said.

Harris nodded. “Can you?” 

“I can try, I mean, I'm up, right?”

“Right.” Harris stepped back inside and waved Darcy in after him. “Deej?” he called, catching DJ's attention. “This is a friend of mine. She brought us something. Darce, this is DJ. DJ Stark. He's visiting.” He paused. “In an involuntary sort of way.” He hovered next to the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched, his face exhausted. DJ glanced at him, and at Darcy, and tried to smile at her.

“Hi.” Darcy held out the sweatshirt. “Harris thought you might want this,” she said, and the boy stared up at her, his eyes and nose red. He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, considering the sweatshirt with something like longing in his face.

Darcy put it down next to him. “I'm Darcy,” she said.

His fingers hovered over the sweatshirt. “I know,” he said, his voice tiny. “Darcy Lewis.” His fingers locked on the fabric, dragging it into his lap, balling it up against his chest. He drew his knees up, folding his body around the sweatshirt. His head fell forward, and he sucked in a breath. “Thor's.”

Darcy took a seat on the edge of the table. “Yeah, it is. How'd you know?”

“Smell,” DJ said. “Like rain and sky.” He passed the fabric through his fingers. “Like... New spices.”

Darcy grinned. “You can tell who it belongs to by the smell?” DJ nodded, and Darcy leaned forward. “Okay. What does Steve's smell like?” she asked, because he was relaxing, by tiny degrees, the strained panic bleeding out of his face, out of the tense lines of his shoulders. 

“Gym chalk and charcoal, linseed oil and soap,” DJ said, his voice soft.

Slowly, casually, she moved a pillow, tucking it against the arm of the couch. He shifted away, but when she picked up a blanket from his other side, he went back, slumping against the support the pillow offered. “Bruce?” Darcy asked.

“Chemicals,” DJ said, slowly. “And tea. Incense, sometimes.”

“Clint?”

“Dust and peppermint and coffee.”

“Coffee? I would've thought that would be Tony.”

DJ paused, his eyes closing. “Dad... Smells of metal and oil, aftershave and-” He buried his face in the sweatshirt. “Dad.”

Darcy bit her lip, resisting the urge to just pick the kid up and hug him. Gently, she shook out the blanket. “How about Natasha's?”

“Don't take Natasha's clothes,” DJ mumbled into the shirt. He peeked up, and his eyes were wet. “Ever.

“Sounds like a good plan. Does she let you wear her sweatshirts?” Darcy asked, and DJ nodded. “Well? What do hers smell like?”

“Vanilla, and honey, and gun oil,” DJ said. He rested his cheek on the sweatshirt fabric, big eyes blinking at her. His lips were parted now, breaths coming in soft little bursts.

“Do you want to put that on?” Darcy asked. DJ nodded. “Want Harris to help you?” Another nod. Darcy stood up. “Okay, Harris, help him with that, I'm going to grab something to drink.”

“Uh, that's not-”

Darcy pointed at the couch. “He needs help,” she said, and Harris moved. “Thank you,” she added, sweeping off to the kitchen.

She was still digging through the fridge when she heard the kitchen door open behind her. “I kill for chocolate right now,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the fridge's contents. “Chocolate or a Long Island Ice Tea.”

“Sorry, can't help with that,” Harris said. He leaned against the counter next to her. “There's a tin of biscotti in the cabinet.”

Darcy made a face. “Teething biscuits for adults,” she said, on a sigh, just to see Harris smile. He did, ducking his head forward. “Give me one.”

Laughing, Harris reached up for the cabinet. “You're good at this,” he said, pulling down a fancy looking tin. He popped the cover and held it out to her.

“Don't get any ideas.” Darcy fished one out and jammed it between her teeth. “I have a single mom and a younger sister,” she mumbled around it. “And baby-sitting the neighborhood kids was an easy way to put cash in my pocket.” She straightened up. “Well, it was pretty much the only way to put cash in my pocket, unless I wanted to wait tables or ring a register at some burger joint.” She bit down on the biscotti. It wasn't half bad, crisp and sweet, studded with nuts. “Baby-sitting was much easier.”

She reached for the tin again, and Harris held it out. “Want some coffee to go with these?” she asked, as Harris helped himself.

“I want to sleep tonight, honestly.” Harris set the tin aside, and took a savage bite of the biscotti. “He didn't eat anything,” he mumbled around the mouthful of cookie. “Since we found him.”

“Well, duh,” Darcy said. She leaned over, poking her head back into the fridge. “Didn't your parents ever tell you not to take candy from strangers?” She pushed the juice aside, and considered the fruit. Probably not. She grabbed a couple of water bottles. “He's Tony's kid, right?”

“Not-”

Her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “Give me strength,” she muttered. “Harris, he's the kid of SOME Tony Stark, right?” She spread her hands, a water bottle in each one. “Then I'm betting it's been pounded into him that he's not to eat something he's handed by someone he doesn't know. People are crazy, and if his dad is a super rich capitalist super hero, then some asshole's going to consider trying to grab him, or hurt him, and since Tony's paranoid and smart, he's probably drummed it into the poor kid's head not to take the chance.”

She gave the door of the fridge a bump with her hip. “He's settled in on the couch?”

“Yeah, but-”

Darcy ignored the 'but.' She'd been doing that her whole life, and so far, it had worked out pretty well for her. “Watch and learn, MacIntyre.”

DJ was well swaddled in fabric, his whole body swallowed by the size of the sweatshirt. His head was down, his cheek resting on the pillow Darcy had put next to him, his eyes locked on the darkened windows. “Hey, Jarvis,” Darcy said, walking back over, “can we let in a little light here?”

“Of course.” The windows slowly depolarized, revealing more of the New York skyline.

“Does that look familiar?” Darcy asked, taking a seat on the edge of the table again. DJ nodded, his gaze sliding over to her. She saw his eyes focus in on the water bottle she had balanced on her knee, and she held it up. “I can't sleep if I'm thirsty,” she said. “Can you open this for me?”

One little hand emerged from the cuff of the sweatshirt, and after a moment of fumbling, DJ managed to get the cap off. “Thank you,” Darcy said, taking it back from him. She took a sip from the bottle, then held it up. “Harris, have some water.”

“Oh, I don't-”

“Harris,” Darcy said, rolling her head in his direction, “have some water.”

He blinked, owlish and confused, but he took the bottle from her and took a quick drink from it before handing it back. Darcy gave him a sunny smile. “Thank you.” She took another sip, then held it out to DJ. “Do you want some?”

He stared at it, naked longing on his face his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Darcy just sat there, waiting. Finally, DJ reached out, wrapping both hands around the bottle. His hands were shaking as he brought it up, but he managed to get a quick swallow before his grip slipped. Darcy caught the bottle and steadied it with one hand, but let him decide what he was going to do.

DJ drained the entire bottle in a few fast, desperate swallows.

“Want some more?” Darcy asked, as she took the empty bottle back. DJ tried to shake his head, but it was a losing battle. Without another sound, he simply pitched to the side, collapsing into the pillows, asleep almost before he hit.

Darcy stood. “Jarvis, lower the lights, but make sure if he wakes up, he can still see, okay? The skyline should work as a pretty decent nightlight.” Jarvis said nothing, but the room dimmed, just enough. Darcy collected the blanket, smoothing it gently over DJ's body. “And that,” she said briskly, turning to Harris, “is how you handle that.”

“I love you,” Harris said, his voice reverent, and Darcy grinned.

“I know,” she said. “Going to bed now.” So tired she could barely walk, she headed across the room towards the bedroom.

“What, here?”

“Yes, here,” Darcy said, fumbling under her shirt. “You dragged me out of my bed in the middle of the night. And now you're not going to put me up? Rude.”

Harris trailed after her, casting nervous glances over his shoulder at the couch where DJ was sleeping. “Look, it's not that I object, it's just, we can't, not with him here.”

Darcy pulled her bra out of one sleeve and tossed it at the end of the bed. “Can't what?” she asked.

Harris stared at her bra. “How do you do that without taking off your shirt?” he asked.

“Practice and laziness,” she said, stepping out of her shorts. “Can't what?”

“You know,” he said, still hovering at the door.

“Yeah, I know, but I want you to say that you're not going to have sex with me while you're babysitting,” Darcy said, grinning. “You sweet, upstanding citizen.”

“Ha. Ha,” Harris said, his brows drawing up tight. “But seriously, Darcy, as much as I would love to, and god, yes, I would love to-”

“As much as I'd love to, I'm fucking exhausted,” Darcy said, “and I have to be up in like three hours, because I have a job to get to, and this is the second night in a row that I've been dragged out of bed in the wee hours, because I make shit decisions about where I live and what I get involved in, and I would really, really just like to get a couple of hours of sleep, Harris. And I would like to get them with you in the same bed, and I swear, your virtue can remain virtuous, but if you're not comfortable with that, I'll drag my sad ass back to my room.”

She paused. “But I'd like to stay here and sleep, just sleep, with you. If that's okay with you.”

“That's okay with me,” he said. “If you think you can resist all of this.” He spread his arms, and Darcy choked on a giggle.

“It will be a trial,” she said, trying for a straight face. “But I think I can manage.” She shoved her shorts down and stepped out of them, crawling into bed clad in her panties and t-shirt. “And you owe me.”

The bed dipped as he settled on the other side. “No,” he said, “now we're even.”

Darcy dropped her glasses on the bedside table. “Even? Even for WHAT?”

Jarvis dimmed the lights without being asked, and Darcy turned into Harris' embrace. “Even for the time you called me up fake crying so I'd come and bail you and your girl gang out of jail,” he said, his voice dark. “Even. For that.”

Darcy paused, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “I don't remember that,” she said, snuggling close and tucking her head against his shoulder.

“Your memory is very convenient, you know that?”

He smelled good, his skin warm under some crisp, masculine coded soap brand. Darcy nuzzled his throat. “You owe me,” she breathed, just to feel the shudder run along every inch of his body, and the way his arms tightened. “I accept sex for repayment.”

“Wow,” Harris said, deadpan, and Darcy laughed. “That's big of you.”

“It is, isn't it?” she said, enjoying the way his fingers tangled in her hair, the way his feet jockeyed for space with hers, the way his breathing always seemed to match hers after a few minutes. “If you start snoring, I'm shoving you onto the floor.”

“Go to sleep, Darce.”

“Harris?”

“Go to sleep, Darce.”

“Whatever you're getting for this baby-sitting gig? You owe me half.”

“I'll pay you in sex.”

“Deal.”

*

Strange, how the absence of one piece of machinery could leave such a gaping hole in the middle of his workshop.

Tony crouched next to the spot where Dummy's charging station had been, his arms braced on his knees, a coffee cup clutched in one hand. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers sweeping over the cracks in the concrete floor. “It almost looks like impact damage,” he said, his voice quiet. His fingers curled against his palm, forming a loose fist. He rested his knuckles against the cracks, studying the way that they spread.

“Structural integrity was not compromised,” Jarvis said. “But yes. Judging by material stress, it would seem that there were gravitational anomalies involved.”

“Random and localized,” Tony said. He looked up, studying the wires that were still attached to their anchors, sliced as if by a knife. “Very localized.” He straightened up, ignoring the way that his head swam for a moment, exhaustion tugging hard at his senses. His eyes closed, his head falling back as he waited for the dizziness to pass.

“Dummy's memory files were recently backed up,” Jarvis said. “We will be able to rebuild him.”

“Yeah.” Tony patted the wall, his hand rough against the spot where his bot should've been. His chest ached, and he struggled to draw a breath. “He won't be... It's not the same.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Jarvis said, “after an event of this nature, who among us is precisely the same?”

There was a gouge in the wall, and Tony ran his thumb along the length of it. “Call me crazy, Jarvis, but I've had enough trauma in my life to know I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. Even if it is inevitable.” Shaking his head, he took a sip of his coffee. “How're Butterfingers and You holding up without him?”

There was a moment of silence, and Tony turned, his eyes sliding over the workshop, looking for his two bots. Butterfingers was next to the fabrication units, feeding them the materials they needed, and You was rolling across the floor, pushing a broom in front of him. Tony's lips twitched. “Jarvis? The kids okay?”

“They are... Stable,” Jarvis said. “More stable than I would have thought. They are used to Dummy's presence. He is the oldest, and in some ways, the strongest personality of the three of them. They are accustomed to following his lead, and without him, they are more dependent upon each other.” Another pause. “When you have a moment, I believe that they would appreciate a bit of personal attention.”

Tony grinned. “Needy lumps of circuitry,” he said. He headed across the workshop, dodging around damaged sections. “I'll see what I can do, but for right now-”

“Of course.” Without being prompted, Jarvis pulled up all of the data that they'd been working on. Tony stepped through the files, pivoting on one foot, his hand darting through the data streams. Damage reports, energy signatures, initial scans and external information flowed around him, and Tony frowned.

“You were offline from the time of the actual event until about what, fourteen hours later?” he asked, his coffee cup hovering in front of his lips. “So we lost most of the major systems, recording, we were on emergency redundancies, right?”

“Yes.”

Tony turned, his eyes narrowing as Butterfingers rolled past. “Jarvis, when you were offline, they were still functioning, weren't they? Butterfingers and You? Did you get any data from them?”

Jarvis paused. “No. They have been trading data packets at a rapid rate, but-”

“But they have cameras.” Tony grabbed for a floating holographic file, yanking it close. “I think if we can pull up that footage, then we should have a solid start on-”

"Task?"

Tony choked on his coffee as a bright pair of brown eyes suddenly appeared on the other side of the holographic display. Coughing, sputtering, he stared, stunned, at the boy, who was now settling down on the stool opposite him. "Wh- How-" Tony swallowed, ignoring how his eyes watered. He closed the holographic displays with a wave of his hand. "Hi,” he said, drawing the word out. “Good morning. How did you get in here?"

DJ looked at him, his gaze accessing. His eyelids dropped in a slow blink. "Door," he said, as if that made any sense at all.

"The door," Tony said, tossing his coffee cup onto the workbench, "was locked. How did you-" He braced a hand on the bench. "Jay, how did he-"

"He used a door code," Jarvis said. He sounded vaguely confused, as if something had happened that he didn't have the data to process. "Your door code."

Tony stared at the boy. The boy stared back, his jaw at an obstinate angle. "Task?" he repeated. When Tony just looked at him, confused, he huffed out a sigh, reaching for a screwdriver.

"Task? What-" The other shoe dropped, and with it, his stomach. Tony turned away, reaching for his coffee cup. “It's, no, it's okay. You don't need to do anything.” DJ frowned, and Tony ignored it. “Where's Harris? I thought that Harris was- Isn't Harris watching you?” He checked his watch. “It's obscenely early, why are you awake?”

“Harris is sleeping,” DJ said. He was arranging tools around him, lining them up in careful rows. “Task?”

“I don't have a task for you, in that child labor is illegal in this state,” Tony said. “Jarvis, can you wake Harris? Now?”

“I have already notified him,” Jarvis said.

DJ nudged a wrench into precisely the right spot. “Task please?” he tried.

“No, look.” Tony reached out, picking up the wrench and moving it out of DJ's reach. “You don't have to do anything.”

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. But whatever it was, it wasn't the way that DJ's face crumbled, his eyes filling with tears. Tony froze, his breath stuttering in his chest as he cast about desperately for some way to handle this.

DJ's chin came up, his mouth going tight. There was an expression of desperation in his eyes, but he blinked hard, keeping the tears from falling. “Task,” he said, the word barely audible. “Please.”

Tony shook his head. “I don't have-”

You appeared over DJ's shoulder and delicately deposited a broken Roomba in front of him. DJ looked down at it, still making soft, pathetic sniffling noises. You nudged it a little closer. DJ patted him, and looked up at Tony. “I can fix this?”

Tony exhaled. “Yes,” he said, because anything, absolutely anything was better than watching the kid cry. “You did a good job with the one yesterday. You can-” He waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

“It has been broken now for a few days,” Jarvis said, his voice soothing. “It would be very helpful to us if you were to take it apart and find out what is wrong.”

“Or even, you know, just take it apart,” Tony said. “That would be helpful, too. Even if you can't, you know, fix it.”

DJ nodded. “I can fix it,” he said. He scrubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, and when he looked up, it was with a brave little smile. 

Tony tried to smile back, his head bobbing in a nod. “Yeah. I bet you can. Do you need-” DJ flipped the Roomba over, flicking his way through the casing releases, and Tony leaned back. “I guess you don't.”

DJ grinned. “No.”

He was fast. Fast, and intuitive. As Tony watched, DJ removed the Roomba's casing, popping out components, one after another. Small fingers tangled in wires, slid into tiny gaps, disassembling the Roomba with a practiced speed.

"You have one of those?" Tony asked. DJ shook his head, never looking up. Without being told, he located the damaged control board and slipped it free from its housing, turning it over in his hands. He leaned over, twisting around to hold it up to the light. His eyes narrowed, and he turned it again, fingertips ghosting over the surface of the board.

Tony leaned against the workbench, caught despite himself. "You're good at that," he offered, and that won him another shrug. "Your dad teach you?"

A nod. "Mostly. Some, I learned myself." He drew one leg up, bracing his bare heel on the edge of the seat, pressing his chest against it as he leaned forward. There was a strange, visible tension to his body, his foot flexing and his shoulders twitching. He held the component out to Tony. "No good."

Tony took it from him. "Yeah," he said, looking it over with a practiced eye. "This is one of the ones the fabrication units made up, a couple of the early prototypes had systems failures." He tossed it onto the bench. "Jay, when we've got a spare moment, have them slap together an updated circuit board."

"Schematic?" DJ asked.

"I don't think-" Tony started, and it didn't matter, it never mattered, because Jarvis was already providing the kid with a holographic schematic. "No one cares what I think, do they?" he asked, and DJ's lips twitched.

"No," he said, a laugh bubbling just under the word. But he was already at work, ably assisted by Jarvis. Tony forced himself to stay still, to just sit and watch. 

"So, your dad done your first press release yet?" he asked. The words slipped out, under his guard, almost against his will. DJ glanced at him, his brow furrowing, and Tony bit back a swear. "My dad," he said, trying to find a way to explain this, "talked to a reporter. When I did things like this." Which sounded worse than he'd expected, when he said it aloud. "Because he was proud of me. That's, that's why he did it.” Tony sipped his coffee. It was cold, and the cream seemed to curdle in his mouth. He swallowed it anyway, then dropped the empty cup back on the workbench. “Because he was proud of me."

DJ shook his head, his attention on the file. "No. No reporters." His face twitched again, his expression unreadable. "Secret."

“What's a secret?”

“Me.”

Tony picked up a wrench, rolling it between his palms. The weight had a strange effect, anchoring him to the here and now. He sucked in a breath. "You're a secret, huh? What does your mom think of that?"

DJ looked up, blinking in that slow, deliberate way of his. His head tilted to the side. "No mom. Just dad." He rocked his weight forward, his bare toes gripping at the edge of the stool's seat. "Dad and Steve."

Well, that was a relief, at least. At least there was Steve. At least he had Steve. Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Right,” he said. “Do you-”

“Harris is approaching the workshop, sir,” Jarvis said, breaking into the conversation. “He does not have codes to the door, shall I-”

“Dear god, yes,” Tony said, throwing his hands in the air. “Please.”

Jarvis opened the door just as Harris reached it, which was good, because Harris didn't even slow down. His face was chalk white, the smattering of freckles on his nose standing out in stark relief against his pallor. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday, but his shirt was sadly wrinkled and his hair was sticking up in all directions.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tony asked, tired and cranky and absolutely done. Harris gave him a cutting look, but didn't say a word to him.

“Deej, don't do that,” he said, instead, crossing over to the workbench. “You scared about six years off of my life.” 

DJ grinned up at him. “Fixing!” he said, pointing at the Roomba parts in front of him.

Harris' face smoothed out. “Yeah, I can see that. But next time, fix in the suite, or wake me up, okay? Don't wander off alone like that.” 

“Yeah, Jarvis, I know you're still not one hundred percent,” Tony said, “but let's keep a weather eye on the kidlet. It's a big building, I don't want him getting lost.”

“Not going to get lost,” DJ said, shifting his weight. 

“We're going to help you with that,” Harris said, and DJ made a face.

Butterfingers rolled over, the metal smoothie cup clamped in his claw, and Tony reached for it. Butterfingers' arm went up, holding the smoothie out of reach as it passed by. “Hey,” Tony said. “What're you-”

Ignoring him, Butterfingers set the cup down next to DJ. DJ, still working, mumbled a thank you. Butterfingers waited for a moment, then nudged the cup closer to him. “Busy,” DJ said, and Butterfingers snagged the edge of the Roomba's case, pulling it away. DJ made a grab for it. “No!” He pulled it back, and Butterfingers released it, going back to the cup.

Butterfingers set the cup on top of the Roomba, and DJ glared at him, his mouth pursed. Butterfingers gave the cup a tap, and DJ picked it up. “Fine,” he grumbled. It took both hands for him to steady the cup, but after the first sip, he tipped it back, drinking it in quick gulps.

“That's my breakfast-” Tony started, and Harris grabbed the front of his shirt with one hand, dragging him to the side.

“If you take his food away from him,” he hissed into Tony's ear, “I will find my broom, and I will beat you to death with it.”

Tony stared at him. “Wow. Parenthood has changed you.”

“You have no idea,” Harris said, his voice dark. “Shouldn't have given me a kid and a broom, Stark.”

“Yeah, I'm sensing that was a mistake.”

DJ finished the smoothie, licking his lips. “Okay?” he asked Butterfingers, who craned upwards to peek into the cup. DJ held it out, letting Butterfingers check that it was empty. Seemingly satisfied, Butterfingers took it, rolling away.

“Hi,” Tony called after him. “Can, can the rest of us have something to eat? That would be nice. Don't know about Harris-” He paused, taking a look at Harris. “Actually, I do know about Harris, Harris is clearly a mess, give him something with Vitamin A, or C, I don't know, extra vitamins, that's all we need.”

“I slept in my shorts, wearing my contacts, I haven't showered in like two days, and I lost the kid I was supposed to be watching in less than twenty-four hours,” Harris said. He turned sharp eyes on Tony. “You really think that Vitamin C is going to turn this around?”

Tony considered him. “B-12?”

“I will kill you,” Harris said with a bright smile. “With my broom.”

The whirring of the blender stopped, and Butterfingers returned, bypassing both men and setting his cup down in front of DJ again.

“I see how this is,” Tony said. “I see how we rate.”

Harris folded his arms on the workbench and slumped down into them. “I'm surprisingly okay with this,” he said. 

DJ hopped down off of his stool, bouncing across the room, Butterfingers chasing after him with the cup. “Faaaaaabrication,” DJ sang out, and Tony scowled.

“Be careful,” he yelled, pushing himself up.

“I shall make certain that he is in no danger,” Jarvis said. “His upgraded design is ready for fabrication. Shall I?”

Startled, Tony looked up at the schematic DJ had been working on. The changes were subtle, but surprisingly elegant. “Fuck,” he muttered. “His fucking father has him doing this already, doesn't he?”

Next to him, Harris went still. "He seems perfectly happy to me," he said, watching DJ bounce around the fabrication bots. 

“Yeah,” Tony said, the word cutting. “I was happy when I could hold my father's attention for a few minutes, too, and playing at being a performing monkey with a welding torch was the easiest way to do it.”

Harris' head snapped in his direction, his brows drawing low over his eyes, but Tony wasn't interested in hearing anything he had to say. “Jarvis, fabricate it. And give me all the data we've got. I need to know-” He let the words trail away. He wasn't sure what he needed.

But he knew he needed something. And he wasn't the only one.

*

Darcy knocked twice before she gave up and slipped into the guest suite. “Harris?” she called.

“Living room.” Harris' voice echoed out to her, tense and tight, and she headed in that direction. He was sitting at the small table in front of the living room windows, hunched over a laptop, his face way too close to the screen. 

“Hey,” Darcy said, catching his attention. “Coffee delivery.”

Harris looked up, his eyes unfocused behind the lenses of his glasses. Darcy waited, smirking to herself, as he figured out who she was and what she was holding. “How're we doing?” she asked, wiggling the coffee cup in his direction.

“Better now that you're here,” Harris said, his voice reverent, and Darcy grinned at him.

“Excellent response,” she said, boosting herself up to sit on the edge of the table. She handed the cup over to him. “Here. Double strength caramel mocha latte, heavy on the whip, and as hot as they'd make it without requiring a legal waiver.”

Harris made a helpless little whimpering noise, and she leaned back on her hands. “Want me to leave the two of you alone together for a while?”

“Yes,” Harris said, his eyes at half mast, his cheeks flushed, his lips absurdly pink. He took another long sip and slumped backwards in his chair, his head hanging boneless on his neck. He made a sound that was close to obscene, and Darcy arched an eyebrow.

“I'd be angry that you're cheating on me with that caffeine,” she mused, “except I've always liked to watch.”

“Ha-ha,” Harris said, hiding his smile behind the cup. 

“You could be sexier right now, that's all I'm saying,” she said. “I paid for your partner there.”

Harris arched an eyebrow at her. Then, holding her gaze the entire time, he tucked his thumb under the edge of the lid and popped it off. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned over and licked his way around the entire rim.

Darcy struggled to keep a straight face. It was a losing battle. “Wow,” she said, her voice shaking.

Harris tipped his head to the side, fluttering his eyelashes and dragging his tongue down the side of the cup. “Sexy,” he said, managing to keep a straight face somehow.

“You look like a dying chihuahua trying to figure out drinking from a straw,” Darcy said, choking on a giggle. “I hope you're not expecting a tip, because that's a pathetic performance.”

“I'd like to see you do better,” he said. Darcy reached for the cup, a wicked smile crossing her face, and he held it out of reach. “On second thought, no, I don't want to see that. Still babysitting.”

“Yeah, Jarvis said it was naptime.” She leaned back, craning her head towards the mostly closed bedroom door. “He decided to try the bed this time?”

“Yeah.” Harris rubbed the bridge of his nose, bumping his glasses out of the way as he massaged the skin there. “I love naptime. Naptime is my new favorite time of the day.”

“Yeah? Well, then, why aren't you napping?” Darcy asked. “Might help your headache.”

He dropped his hand immediately, straightening up in his chair. “I don't have a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Darcy glanced down at his laptop. “You've got the brightness turned way down there, and you're wearing your glasses instead of your contact lenses, and you're about the color of mashed potatoes.”

“I don't get much sun,” Harris admitted. “It is not the default for my people-”

“By 'my people' do you mean nerds?” Darcy asked, grinning. “Because I think you mean nerds.”

“I mean, computer software programmers,” he said, with dignity.

“Nerds with degrees,” Darcy agreed.

“ANYWAY,” Harris said, making Darcy laugh, “I don't get sun, because I get freckley.”

“Also a shame, your freckles are adorable.”

“Right,” he said, drawing the word out.

“Are you doubting me? Do I hear doubt?” she asked.

“Not doubting you, just your mental state.”

“You're a funny, funny boy, you know that? Give me those,” she said, reaching out and pulling his glasses off of his nose. “These things are filthy.”

“They're fine,” Harris said. Darcy gave him a look. He shrugged. “I can still see through them.” He wrapped both hands around the coffee cup and huddled behind it. “Kinda.”

Darcy grinned, tossing her purse onto the table next to her. “Uh, yeah, the film of grease on here is only a couple of inches thick. And I bet you clean them with dish soap.” She found her glasses cleaning cloth and did her best to get through the mess on the lenses.

“Only occasionally.” She gave him a look, and Harris busied himself with his coffee, his eyes big and wide and painfully blue. “Look, I am not fancy. You knew this.”

“Well, your glasses aren't held together with tape, so that's a plus,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he agreed, deadpan. “This pair is not held together with tape.”

“Wooooow,” Darcy said, holding out the clean glasses to him, the bridge hooked over her finger. 

“I tend to hoard things that might be in short supply,” he admitted. He slipped the glasses back on, and and blinked at her. 

“Better?” Darcy asked.

He smiled. “Better. The glasses and the headache.” He nudged them up the bridge of his nose with the back of one knuckle. “Thanks, Darcy.”

“No big deal,” she said, ignoring the warmth that curled through her at his smile. “You can get the next one.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “After this-” his head tipped towards the bedroom. “Settles down a bit, how about tapas?”

“Oh, I do love tapas,” she said. “Can I steal from your plate?”

“What's the point of tapas unless you're going to steal from the other person's plate?”

“True,” Darcy said. Harris' laptop beeped, and he glanced back down. “What're you working on?”

“Hmm? Oh, SHIELD assignments.” He was already typing, his fingers quick and light on the keyboard. “Coulson dropped the laptop off along with some clothes and-" He gestured at his glasses. "These. He's got me looking over some server data, some ISP tracking. It's pretty boring, but luckily, all I really need is a computer and a secure connection to do my job.”

Darcy scowled at the computer. “You'd think he'd give you a break.”

Harris' head tipped to the side. “I like being busy,” he said, his voice quiet. “If I've got something to focus on, I don't stress about the things I can't control. I can't do anything about a lot of this, like the fact that there's a little kid in there sleeping with his arms wrapped around a Roomba like it's the world's most uncomfortable and expensive teddy bear, but I can debug this.” His lips twitched up. “It's comforting to be able to do SOMETHING, Darce.”

“That, I know.” Darcy paused, watching him work for a few minutes. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. There was something nice about that, about the comfortable silence of someone who liked having her around, but didn't need to be amused or humored.

"Doesn't it bother you?" she asked at last. Harris looked up, his eyes bright behind the frames of his glasses.

"Doesn't what bother me?" he asked, his brow creasing.

Darcy crossed her arms over her chest. "The fact that he doesn't know you."

Harris blinked up at her, owlish and confused, and then he smiled. "No," he said. He reached up, pulling his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He winced, his whole face twisting up for a second, but it was gone almost as fast as it came. "Not really."

"How?" The word came out with more force than she'd intended, hard and sharp, and he paused, his fingers still pressing into the sides of his nose. "How can you just- It should bother you," she said, running out of words to explain the strange, almost superstitious feeling of foreboding.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. He put his glasses back on again, and his gaze was calm and steady when he met her eyes.

"Well, duh," she said, her voice flat, and he grinned up at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because-” She didn't like to talk about it, didn't like to say anything about it, because Harris never talked about it. “Because it means that in his world, you're still sitting in some Hydra facility.” She stopped, her mouth going tight. “Doesn't it?”

Harris sighed. “No, it doesn't.” Darcy opened her mouth, and he pushed his laptop aside. “Darce, it doesn't. It just- It doesn't work like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a thousand things had to happen for DJ to have met me. Maybe Tony got us all out and I went back to California. Maybe I never took the job with SHIELD. Maybe I did, and maybe Tony meets me every Tuesday for lunch, but he hasn't introduced me to his child.” He smiled. “Maybe I never got on the plane, maybe that other me listened to his gut and ignored his student loans and said, something's not right here, and never ended up in a Hydra facility at all.”

He fell silent for a moment. “Maybe I never left home. Maybe-” He smiled, just a little. “Darce, maybe his life is very different than mine. There is literally thousands of ways his life could have turned out different. Could've turned out better.”

Darcy didn't say anything, and Harris leaned forward, cupping her cheek in one hand. “Darce. I'm sure he's fine.” He smiled. “Okay?”

She blinked hard, her eyes stinging. “Not okay,” she muttered. “And you'd better not be laughing at me.”

“Oh, God, I don't have that much of a death wish,” Harris said. “And besides, why would I laugh at you?” His smile was lopsided, a little unsteady. “Look, Darce, it's been a while since anyone worried about me. So the fact that you're worried about ANOTHER me, well, that's-” He nodded. “That's really nice, Darce.” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Thanks for being my friend.”

“Girlfriend,” she said, grinning despite her damp eyes.

“Which I definitely appreciate,” Harris said, with such feeling that she started to giggle. “Man, do I appreciate that.” He angled his head up, and she met him halfway, leaning down to brush her lips against his. The kiss was warm and sweet, and involved forehead bumping and nose rubbing and Darcy drew it out as long as she could. Harris was smiling against her lips, his fingers gentle on the nape of her neck.

They broke apart, and he was breathing hard, and she was proud of herself for that. But he smiled up at her, eyes full of laughter. “But you'd worry about it, even if I wasn't your boyfriend, wouldn't you?”

She gave him a light head butt. “Duh. You're my friend.”

“You're just saying that so that I will buy you all the tapas, aren't you?”

“Oh, you are buying me all the tapas and also all the drinks,” Darcy said, ruffling his hair. “The entire menu. And some stuff I convince the chef to give me that isn't even on the menu.”

“I'll cash in my 401K now, then,” Harris said. 

“You'd better.” She slipped down off the table. “You okay with me hanging out here? My work's done for the day, at least until everyone starts showing up.”

“Yeah, of course, and 'everyone?'” 

Darcy kicked off her shoes. “When the world's in danger from alien invasion or mob of Doombots or whatever, you call in the Avengers. When you need to do science to it-” She tossed herself onto the couch. “You spend your days wondering why we don't have a 'science!' signal to summon the science squad.”

“What would that be, exactly?” Harris asked, typing away again. “A big searchlight with an image of a Erlenmeyer flask?”

“I assume,” she mused, “that it would be a big searchlight with a long, complicated chemical formula or equation or blueprint.”

“And that would get you science-doers?”

She thrust a hand in the air. “It would if there was a mistake in it. Trust me. They'd come out of the woodwork to tell you about the mistake, and then you could just lasso 'em and shove 'em into the lab.”

Harris turned in his chair, staring at her. Darcy grinned. “What?” she asked, her voice spun sugar sweet.

“Tell me you don't have a lasso.”

“I might have a lasso,” she said. He gave her a squinty-eyed look, and she grinned. “Okay, I don't have a lasso, but I am a SHIELD science-doer coraller so that should come with a lasso, honestly. Some of these people do not answer their phones.”

“Have they found Dr. Richards yet?”

“Not that I know of,” Darcy said. “Jane's already downstairs, of course, since cross dimensional bridges have somehow become one of her specialties, and Erik's on his way up. Hank McCoy, from Xavier's, he's got class for another hour, but they assure me he'll be over as soon as tutoring is over.”

“I don't know if I know him,” Harris said.

“Oh, God, he's the best,” Darcy said. “He said he'd bring me his orange pistachio muffin recipe this time, but I'll believe it when I see it, the man will not give it up.” She crossed her legs at the ankles, sighing as she relaxed into the couch. “We contacted the Wakandan embassy, because they tend to be light years ahead of the rest of the world when it comes to this sort of thing, but they need to clear it through diplomatic channels before they'll be able to send anyone, so I guess that Steve's trying to get in touch with T'Challa directly. Thor's hopped back to Asgard, seeing if we can get anyone from there to acknowledge our existence, and SHIELD's got the usual suspects coming in.”

He glanced at her. “You live a very complicated life.”

“And I'm bitchin' at my job. I deserve booze.”

“That you do.”

“Please forgive my interruption, but you did ask to be notified when DJ had awoken,” Jarvis said.

Harris leaned back in his chair, shutting his laptop with a sigh. “Drinks are going to have to wait.”

“Not if they're milkshakes.” Darcy raised her voice. “DJ, it's Darcy. Do you like milkshakes?”

A beat of silence, and then the door to the bedroom opened. “Yes,” DJ said, with all the gravity that the question required. “Yes. I do.”

“Me, too!” Darcy smiled at him. “Jarvis, any chance we can get some ice cream?”

“I shall place the request now,” Jarvis agreed.

“Milkshakes are not dinner,” Harris told Darcy.

“They are if you're doing them right,” she told him. “And I? I do them right.”

*

“Okay, let's do this-” Tony's hands darted through the air, pulling and pushing the holographic displays. Jarvis, used to him, sometimes two steps ahead of him, moved the flow of data through Tony's fingers, dropping what he needed in front of him without being prompted. “If we-” 

Beside him, Bruce shifted again, the movement sharp and tense. Tony glanced at him. “You with me here?” he asked, his hands still moving.

Bruce's head snapped back towards him. “What? Oh. Yes, yes, it's-” He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the force of it. “Of course.”

“I lost you somewhere,” Tony said. “What's up?”

Bruce's eyes darted to the side, and Tony followed the direction of his gaze. On the other side of the workbench, DJ was perched on a stool, carefully untangling wires. The tip of his tongue was sticking out off his mouth, his face scrunched up as he focused on his work. Next to him, Harris was pounding away on a SHIELD issue laptop that Tony was going to burn before this was over, it was an insult that the damn thing was in his workshop. Every so often, he would hand DJ a tool, or lean over to check his progress. But for the most part, the two of them worked in companionable silence, DJ's pet Roomba rolling from one of the bench to the other.

“I don't- I don't think I should be here,” Bruce said, his voice pitched low. He looked up at the displays, his face twisted up, his mouth a thin line. “With him, I mean.”

Tony glanced back at DJ. “He's fine,” he said. Because he wasn't sure he should be here with DJ, either. But DJ was clearly most at ease and happiest here, just as Tony was. And Tony found he didn't have it in him to block DJ from coming here.

It seemed cruel, somehow.

Tony went back to work, trying not to think of the small acts of cruelty of which he was capable, trying not to think of anything at all. “I can't kick him out,” he said. “I mean, considering how fucked up this situation is, he's doing pretty well, but I can't-”

“I don't think you should,” Bruce said, the words rushing over themselves. “I think that I should go, I think-” He shook his head hard, his face twisting with frustration. “I can look everything over from my lab, and send it down to you, or head over to SHIELD, but as long as he's here, I don't think I should be.”

The smallest scuffing sound brought their heads around as one. DJ was staring up at them, bare feet twisted beneath his weight, his toes drawn up and his arms wrapped tight around his midsection. His eyes darted back and forth between them, confusion and hurt warring on his face.

“You're very quiet when you want to be, aren't you?” Tony asked, but DJ ignored him. He just stared at Bruce, his fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, his expression full of hurt.

“Sorry,” Harris said, scrambling across the floor. “Sorry, I just- I didn't even see him move-”

“It's not your-” Tony started, and DJ cut him off.

“You don't like me,” he said, his voice small in the big space.

Bruce took a breath and crouched down. “It's not that I don't like you,” he said, the words coming slowly. “I do. It's-” He looked up at Tony, who shrugged, helpless. Bruce sighed. “Sometimes, I'm... Not myself,” he said. “Sometimes, I can't control the things I do and sometimes, people get hurt.” He stopped. “Sometimes, I hurt people. I don't mean to, and I don't want to. But I do.” His fingers flexed, forming broad fists on the planes of his thighs, and then smoothing out. “I hurt people, sometimes, and I don't want to hurt you.”

DJ's head tipped to the side, his hands tugging hard at his shirt. His breathing slowed, evened out. His eyes, when he looked up at Bruce, were bright. “The other guy won't hurt me,” he said, and Bruce rocked back on his heels.

“Okay, so you've got a Hulk, too,” Tony said, his voice faint, and it wasn't a question, but DJ looked up at him.

“Yes,” he said. He pulled one hand free from his shirt, reaching into his pocket. He turned on his heel and headed back to the workbench, boosting himself up onto the stool. Harris followed him, nudging the stool back into place once DJ was seated. Tony glanced at Bruce, who pushed himself upright. He swayed on his feet, and Tony grabbed his arm, propping him up.

“Hey, there,” he said, and Bruce shook his head. He was pale, unnaturally pale, his eyes dark holes in the skeletal whiteness of his face. But he pulled away from Tony's hands, heading for the workbench. 

DJ was fiddling with a slim, sleek silver and red phone, something that looked like a StarkPhone, but not any design Tony had ever approved. Maybe some Tony had, though, or maybe some Tony had made it personally, because it fit easily into DJ's hands. After a moment of searching, he set the phone on the workbench, pushing it towards them, and pressed the play button that hovered over the video file.

Hulk.

He was huge, massive and solid, nearly filling the screen, filmed at an oblique angle instead of straight on. Despite that, it was clear that he was just as big and broad and green as the one that Tony knew. He was sitting, thick legs thrown out in front of him, arms loose at his sides, on a familiar looking tile floor. Tony squinted at the background of the image, a pale blue wash of water. “Is that... Is that the pool?” he asked, stunned, and DJ nodded.

“He likes it there,” he said. Tony stared at him, Bruce stared at him, and DJ scowled at them both, pointing a finger at the video. 

“Right, sorry,” he said, “watching, right.”

“Can I have my kid now?”

Tony's whole body went tense, like a jolt of electricity had gone through him all at once. His heart pounding in his ears, he stared down at the screen. 

His voice again, and someone else's words, someone else's words, unconcerned and almost amused. And beneath that, there was a note of annoyance, like he was done with everything. “No, seriously, he's asleep. Can we have him back now?”

The Hulk's head turned in their direction, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a sharp frown. He considered them, his face creased in concentration. “No,” he rumbled, and turned back to stare at the wall. 

The camera shifted, the image going a step, maybe two to the side, and Tony's heart stopped. There, draped over the Hulk's other shoulder, was DJ. He was on his stomach, his arms trailing over Hulk's chest, his head hanging down, so lax that he seemed almost boneless. 

“He's drooling on you right now. You know that, right?” The Tony voice sounded amused, like this was a thing that could happen, like this was a thing that was happening. Like he he let this happen regularly. Tony's hands curled into fists at his sides, the muscles of his shoulders so tight that they hurt.

Hulk made a rumbling little grumble, not quite a word, but a definite show of disdain. DJ shifted, sliding to the side, and Hulk's big hand came up, holding him in place with a delicacy that Tony hadn't been aware that he was capable of. The touch was fleeting, cautious, and for an instant, Hulk's face softened, a hint of a smile stretching his mouth. There was something like pride in his face, like contentment, as he sat there, beside the wide blue expanse of the pool, and let a child sleep on his back.

And when DJ shifted, wiggling in his sleep until he slid free of his perch, Hulk caught him. His movements very slow, very careful, he shifted DJ into his lap. He grumbled again, petulant and frustrated, but that smile was still there, hovering around his mouth, like he was pleased with his achievement. DJ curled into Hulk's stomach, one leg kicking as he pushed closer.

It was Steve that walked into the frame, so obviously Steve, even when all Tony could see was the man's back, his walk. It was Steve that crouched in front of the Hulk, his hands loose on his knees, smiling. “I don't think he'll be swimming again today. Can I put him to bed?” he asked, and this time, Hulk handed DJ over, shifting his small burden into Steve's waiting arms. Steve took him, and Hulk's massive fingers flexed, gripping the air as if they missed DJ's weight. Steve smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Hulk reached out, patting DJ's sleeping head with one fingertip.

With a yawn, he crashed back onto the tile floor, making the video shake for a moment.

“Watch the structural stability there, buddy,” Tony's voice said.

Steve straightened up, DJ caught up against his chest, cradled against his shoulder, and gave the camera a look. “Could you stop filming and do something useful?” he asked. The words were annoyed, but his voice was full of warmth and affection, his eyes dancing.

“I don't see why I should bother, I mean, that is why I keep you around, so you can handle this sort of thing,” the other Tony said.

Steve's eyes narrowed. “Just for that,” he said, a smile still hovering around his mouth. “You can handle bathtime. For both of them.”

“I'll get the hose,” Tony said, and the video went dark.

In the silence that followed, DJ reached out, dragging his phone back to cup it between his palms. “Not afraid of you,” he said, looking up at Bruce. “Either of you. Don't need to be.” His big, dark eyes blinked, slowly, the movement strangely deliberate. “He likes me, too.”

“Question,” Harris said, and bless Harris for talking, because Tony couldn't manage it right now. DJ looked at Harris, and Harris leaned his folded arms on the workbench. “Why are you asleep in every one of these videos?” he asked.

“Easier,” DJ said, without missing a beat. “I move less.”

“Yeah? Your dad tell you that?” Harris asked, and DJ nodded. “Sounds about right.” He stood. “I think that Butterfingers is making smoothies, want to go help him?” he asked. DJ's face split in a grin, and he slid down off of his stool, shoving his phone back into his pocket even as he bounced down to the floor. He shot off across the workshop, and Harris looked at them. “Sorry, I-”

“You're doing better than I could,” Tony said, pulling himself together with a force of will and both hands. He could do this. He could do this because he had to. He gave Harris a polished, practiced smile. “Give us a second, okay?”

“I'll have Jarvis warn you when 'dinner' is ready,” Harris agreed, and hustled off after DJ, who was helping Butterfingers and You load up the smoothie prep area.

For a second, Tony just stood there, his fisted hands braced on the workbench, his shoulders twitching with the strain of keeping himself upright. Something like hatred churned in his stomach, and he didn't want to look too closely at that, didn't even want to think of it. He sucked in a breath. “You okay?” he asked instead.

“He looked like-” Bruce stared at the table, his face chalky white. “He looked like a kid that's found a baby bird. Like... Like he knows it'll break, if he holds on too tight.” He glanced up, and his eyes were dark and empty and full of confusion. “What was that?”

Tony scraped a hand over his face. “Banner, I have no idea. Hulk babysits sometimes, I guess.”

Bruce nodded. “I don't-” He looked up, blinking fast, his eyes darting around. “I wasn't expecting that.” 

“Yeah, neither was-”

“You activated it?” Reed asked from the doorway, and Tony gripped his forehead with one hand.

“I think I'm having a stroke,” he said, making Bruce laugh. “No, seriously, this is a stroke or an aneurism, or just a psychotic break, I'm not sure, but if he's still there in three seconds-”

“He's going to be,” Bruce said, his voice apologetic.

“Delivery,” Clint said, his voice wry. 

“Take him back outside and shoot him,” Tony said, and Reed's eyebrows arched.

“Oh, may I?” Clint drawled. “Please? You won't have to get me anything for my birthday.”

“No. We need him,” Bruce said, a smile hovering around his mouth. “Hello, Reed.”

“Bruce, how are you?” Reed headed across the workshop, sidestepping the rough spots with a loose-limbed, elastic stride. “Why would you activate it, Tony? That was not-” His head twisted towards the fabrication units as he passed, his body still moving forward for a few steps, his neck stretching as he did. “That's not going to work.”

“Will,” DJ said, holding out a smoothie cup to him as he passed by.

“Thank you,” Reed said, taking it. “And I don't think-”

Tony snapped his fingers in the air. “Reed. You left me a box. I didn't activate it. The box blew up. We kind of need to know what you left here that nearly killed us all, because we need to do it again.”

Reed's eyebrows were scraping the upper limits of his face. “Why?” he asked. DJ bounced in front of him, a smoothie cup in each hand. Tony took one, and Bruce accepted the other one with a small, game smile.

“No one tell him,” Clint said. “Please. No one tell him.”

“Reasons,” Tony said, succinct about it. “Clint, where's-”

“Nat's back at SHIELD, helping Jane grab some equipment,” Clint said. “I drew the short straw.” He crouched down as DJ skidded to a stop in front of him, smoothie slipping over the rim of his cup. “Thanks.” He took it and held out a hand. “Clint.”

“DJ,” DJ said, holding his out. It took Clint a second to figure out what he wanted, but when he did, he tapped his palm against DJ's. DJ grinned, pleased with the high five, and bounced off again.

Reed sipped his smoothie. “So it activated itself,” he mused. “I had suspected that it might-”

He stopped. He turned.

Reed blinked down at DJ. DJ stared back. “You're new,” Reed said. He paused. “Right?” DJ nodded. Reed nodded back. “Yes. I thought I might've noticed. If you'd been here before.”

“I'm not so sure about that, honestly,” Tony said, and Bruce kicked him lightly in the ankle. Tony skipped sideways, out of reach. “What?” he asked.

“Behave,” Bruce mouthed at him from behind his smoothie cup.

“No,” Tony said, with a brilliant smile.

“Where did you come from?” Reed asked, crouching down in front of DJ. He had a slight, warm smile on his face now, his body moving with fluid elasticity. 

“Well, when your little gift scrambled the universes,” Tony said, “we ended up illegally acquiring a child. We snatched him. From someone else's world. From his world.” He gave Reed a very tight, very sharp smile. “Which, as you might understand, if you think about it, is kind of a problem.”

Reed winced. “Yes. That is...” He huffed out a sigh. “That is a problem.” 

“Little bit of a problem,” Tony said. “So what was in that box?”

Reed stood. “I don't really know,” he admitted, and Tony seriously considered throwing his smoothie cup at Reed's head.

Carefully, he put it down. “Well, now's a good time to start guessing,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight warnings for a very scared kid after a nightmare and some general Stark brand father-angst.

'I fear I do not understand." Hank McCoy cradled his tea cup between his broad fingertips, claws delicate against the thin china. "If you weren't certain of the origin or the intent of the device, then why leave it here without providing at least a modicum of explanation?”

Reed shook his head. "He wasn't supposed to ACTIVATE it," he said, managing to pack an amazing amount of insulted confusion into the handful of words.

“I see,” Hank said, in a tone that clearly indicated that he did not see, but he wasn't really interested in getting any further into the conversation. He adjusted his half moon glasses on the broad bridge of his nose. “That was badly done of him.”

"I had nothing to do with it's activation," Tony said. "I hate to bring this up again-"

"But you're going to," Bruce said, hunched over his laptop.

Tony glared in his general direction, but Bruce didn't even notice. Or look up. "Whose side are you on?" he asked.

"Justice. Righteousness. The usual." Bruce twisted in his chair. "What do you think about the energy signatures?" he asked Jane.

Jane leaned forward, her pen clamped in her mouth, her eyes narrowed as she considered the chart Bruce was working with. Her nose wrinkled up, and the tip of the pen bobbed up and down as she worked the cap between her teeth. "Let me see," she said, and Bruce handed the laptop over. She took it with one hand and tucked her hair behind her ear with the other. "I think we can figure this out, I mean, if we do this-”

“That won't work,” Bruce said, leaning back. She reached out and flipped his glasses down onto his nose. “Oh, THAT's what you're doing. That might work.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “That will work,” she said, glee curling through the words. “Can you-”

“Yeah, got it,” Bruce said, grabbing for a tablet. “If you're adjusting the broad spectrum sensor grid, we should be able to do that with-”

“Let me see,” Reed said, his body staying where it was, his hands still hard at work, as his neck elongated until he could peer over Jane's shoulder. Jane didn't seem to notice. She just held up the laptop, the pen rolling to the other side of her mouth, out of the way. Reed made an approving noise. “We could-”

“We're going to,” Bruce said. He held up a handful of pages, covered with scribbled lines. “Here, can you-”

Reed's hand reached across the room. “Does it come with a translation key?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Bruce took them back and turned them over. “Oh, well, yes, that would make more sense.” He squinted. “If I assume a slight variance...” he mumbled, retreating back to the other side of the workshop.

“That's so disquieting to watch,” Stephen Strange said, his head turning to follow the movement.

“You're floating right now,” Tony pointed out. “I really don't think you get to say anything about anyone else being freaky.”

“Do you find this disquieting?” Strange asked him. A massive book was open on his folded legs, his coat trailing down below him to brush against the floor. 

“If I say yes, will you stop doing it?” Tony shot back.

“No,” Strange said, a smile hovering around his lips. “I'm just curious.”

“Then no. Nothing that you do or could do could possibly put me off my game. I'm un-put-offable,” Tony said. “Why are you even here? We're trying to do science, and you are -" He waved a hand. "Interfering with the science.”

“With science itself, or with you being able to science?” Strange asked, one finger pressed to his lips. He gestured with a hand, and a tea cup swirled into existence between his fingertips. It filled on its own.

“I don't suppose-” Hank asked, holding up his own cup.

“Cream and sugar?” Strange asked.

“Oh, I shouldn't want to be too much trouble...”

“No trouble at all,” Strange said, his fingers sweeping through the air. Hank's cup filled, steam pouring from the surface of the beige liquid. Hank took a sip, and made an approving noise, then went back to his work.

“I'm going to have to do an exorcism to get the magic smell out,” Tony commented, but no one else seemed concerned. “And I can science just fine, even with you here.” Strange chuckled, and Tony considered spraying him with a fire extinguisher. He could get Dummy to do it. He could make it look like an accident. Most things with Dummy fell easily into the 'probably an accident' category anyway.

“If you didn't activate it,” Hank said to Tony, interrupting Tony's fantasy about Strange doused in foam. It wasn't sexy, but he was enjoying it anyway. Right up until he remembered the empty charging station.

He shoved a hand through his hair. “And I didn't,” he pointed out. 

Hank held up a massive hand. “Since you didn't activate it,” he amended. “How, exactly, did this come to pass?” The holographic scans and schematics floated around him, and he made a minute adjustment to one segment.

“I still haven't gotten an answer to that.” Tony tossed another wave of information over to the console where Reed was working. “Dr. Richards? Care to enlighten the rest of the class as to how, exactly, this came about?”

“That's an excellent question,” Reed said. 

“It really is, isn't it?” Tony agreed. “Is the answer as excellent?”

“I'm sure it would be, if I knew,” Reed replied.

Tony's bit down on the desire to say something very rude. “Have you got an educated guess for us?” he asked. “I'd take an informed guess. Or a well-reasoned guess. Hell, at this point, I'd settle for a drunken, rambling guess.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, and Tony looked up to find everyone staring at him with varying degrees of confusion and concern. Bruce pulled his glasses off, letting his wrist rest on his knee. “Are we okay?” he asked.

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “We're fine,” he said, but he took a seat anyway. “But we have a little boy, and somewhere out there, someone must be missing him.”

He had to believe that. He had to believe that this kid's father was missing him, was trying to find him.

Reed nodded. “I didn't know this could happen,” he said. “I honestly would not have left it with you if I'd thought it posed any danger. But I wasn't able to determine its purpose, or even its origin, and you've always enjoyed a challenge.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. You're right. I do.” He paused, his arms crossed over his chest. “Also, I'm better at it than you.”

“You are,” Reed said, with a faint smile. “Much better.”

“You just- Picked it up on a-” Jane frowned at him. “On a mission?”

“Exploration. But yes, close enough,” Reed said. “The technology did not match the ruins where we found it. We're not sure if it was left behind, or stolen, but it was clear that it did not belong there. Yet-” He shrugged, a full body flex. “There it was.”

“Did it not occur to you that if it were left behind in the ruins of a dead civilization, that it might well have had something to do with that end?” Hank asked, his eyebrows arched.

Reed considered that. “No,” he said at last.

Hank nodded, very slowly. “You see, for the X-Men, that is almost always our first thought,” he said. “It results in few trinkets being brought back to the mansion.”

“You're smart people,” Bruce said. “You're, you're very smart people.

“Well, all except Remy.”

“Did you see if there was anything else-” Tony started, but Reed was already shaking his head. 

“This was it, I'm afraid. And even if we wanted to, returning would be impossible. There's nothing left.”

Everyone considered that. No one asked.

“So we still have no idea where it came from,” Bruce said.

“Actually, we do. Or we know a little more than we did five minutes ago.” Darcy walked in, holding a tablet in her hand. “SHIELD science called in some favors and handed over some favors, there were favors being passed around like a pack of cigarettes, I swear to God, but we've got something.” She tossed the tablet to Tony, who caught it one handed. “N'Yami at the embassy skipped some layers of protocol, mostly because I think she doesn't want to watch us blow up the world fucking around with half-baked ideas.” She grinned. “Also, she's got a soft spot for lost little kids.”

Tony pulled up the data. “It's Wakandan?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Nope, but they've seen it before. It's extraterrestrial, for sure, but they've got the data on it.”

“Enough for us to be able to replicate it,” Tony said, relief flooding over him. His fingers flying over the screen, he uploaded the data to Jarvis' databanks, and disbursing it to the rest of the room. “With help.”

“We can rebuild it,” Reed agreed. “But can we control it?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “We can. I mean, I can, but-” She shook her head. “I can aim it where you want me to aim it, but I can't tell you WHERE we should aim it.” She leaned back in her chair. The pen rattled against her tablet face, bouncing hard against the plastic. “We're talking about a multiverse theorem here, I can build us a bridge, but before we can, we have to know where we're going, and that-” She shook her head. “I can't help you with that. All the data we've got tells us what happened, shows us how it happened, but we can only see this from our end, I don't know what happened on the other end, or even where that other end is.”

“You might not be able to figure out where he came from,” Strange said. “But I can help with that.”

“How?” Tony asked.

“The spells on him are unique.” Strange flipped through his book, his fingers almost but not quite touching the pages. Still, they turned easily with his every gesture. “They are anchored, intrinsically tied to a particular location.” He glanced up, his eyes bright in the diffused light that spilled from the book's pages. It cast his face in sharp relief, all angles and hollows. “That link has been stretched, and stretched fine, but it has not been broken.”

“You can use it?” Hank asked, stroking his chin.

“I can.” Strange held up a hand. “Think of it like this. The spells that surround him were designed to keep him safe, but were maximized by anchoring them to a particular space. They were tied to a particular patch of earth, and that gave them unbelievable strength. As long as he remained there, the protection would be nearly absolute.”

“As long as, you know, he never ever left,” Tony said.

Strange looked at Tony down the length of his nose. “This is not a trap, Stark. It is a sanctuary. I have one of my own. I can leave the Sanctum at any time, but I am strongest, and safest, in that one place.”

“Home,” Reed said. 

“Home,” Strange agreed. “The spells are unusually strong, and unusually elastic. A great deal of energy was put into them, and because of that, they have held in a way I do not believe I-” He paused. “Or some version of myself, could have intended.”

Strange tapped the air, and a bright spark of white light flickered into existence there. He drew his finger through the air, and the spark followed the movement, almost unwillingly. He held up his other hand, and the spark jumped from one hand to the other, landing neatly in the curve of his palm.

“Torn from his home, the spells have, in some way, recentered themselves. They are holding, by substituting this Tower, this patch of earth and sky, for the one that was originally intended to shelter him. That is the strength.” 

His fingers closed on the spark, squeezing it, and a thin, almost invisible thread of light shot from his fingers and back to the original spot where the spark had originated.

“But it is still anchored. It cannot relinquish the original anchor point, even across a far greater distance than it has already traveled. That is the elasticity.” He wound up, and flung the spark. It shot across the workshop, bouncing against the wall, against a bench, against the floor and the ceiling. And in its wake, that thin, delicate thread of light gleamed like a spider's web in early dawn light.

Strange reached up, catching the spark in two fingers as it flashed by his head. He looked at the pattern it had made, and smiled. “I can trace his path. I can find his original anchor point. If you can rebuild the mechanism that brought him here?”

He snapped his fingers, and the spark and the web it had woven disappeared. “I can find where he belongs.”

“We can send him home,” Tony said.

“Yes,” Strange said.

“Good. Let's get started.”

*

Harris woke to the sound of a scream.

“DJ?” He scrambled out of bed, his legs tangled in the blankets. The world tipped to the side, his vision blurry and his head spinning. His heart was pounding in his chest, he made a desperate grab for his glasses. They slipped out of his grip, bouncing across the floor, and he nearly followed them. “Jarvis, oh, God, what's-” 

“I believe he is having a nightmare,” Jarvis said. “He is not responding to me, it would seem that he needs physical intervention.”

“Right,” Harris said, his fumbling fingers locking around his glasses, and then he was up and running. 

At DJ's door, he paused just long enough to give a perfunctory knock before pushing it open. “DJ?” he asked. He slipped inside, moving slowly, carefully. “It's Harris, DJ. It's all right, you're safe, I promise.” He shoved his glasses on his face. “Can I turn on the light?” There was no response, and in the dim light from the windows, he could see the dark from huddled against the headboard of the bed. Harris tried again. “Deej?” 

There was a thin, soft sound of pain, and Harris' stomach ached. “Jarvis, bring the lights up, please.” Jarvis responded immediately, and Harris squinted against the light. It took him a second for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, he kind of wished they hadn't.

DJ was shaking, his eyes bright with unshed tears. His breath came in hard, rattling gasps, his fingers clawing at the blankets, his legs drawn up tight against his chest. His face was white, his big dark eyes locked on something that Harris couldn't see.

“Deej?” Harris tried. “Did you have a bad dream? It's okay. It was just a nightmare. It happens. It's-” DJ's mouth moved, his lips silently forming words. Harris took a step forward. “I can't hear you, DJ, what-”

DJ sucked in a breath, the force of it shuddering through his frame. “Steve,” he gasped out. It was barely audible, barely a word. 

Harris' heart seized in his chest. “DJ, it's-”

His face twisted, tears overflowing. “Steve,” he said again, and again, “Steve, Steve, Steve, STEVE.” It was something like a scream, a broken, helpless howl. 

“Deej, it's not-” Harris clapped a hand over his mouth. “Deej, he's not here. You know that, don't you? He's not...” He sucked in a breath, wishing he knew what to do, how to handle this. But DJ was staring at him, his cheeks wet, his eyes agonized, and Harris sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath. “DJ. He isn't your Steve.”

DJ curled into a ball, his shoulders trembling as he bent over his knees. He struggled to breathe, his thin body shaking with the effort. “I know. I-” His eyes closed. “Can't I pretend?” he whispered, and it was agonized. Another breath shook him, and his toes curled against the blankets. “Please?”

Harris nodded, his chest aching. “Yeah. Yeah, you- You can.” He reached out, his hand hovering awkwardly over DJ's head before falling back down on the bed. “Jarvis, could you please see if Steve can come up to talk to DJ?”

“I have already done so,” Jarvis said. “He is on his way.”

DJ let out his breath on a sob. “Thank... You,” he managed, the words thin and shaking.

“We will help you, any way we can,” Jarvis said. “I am concerned with your respiration. Are you having trouble breathing?”

DJ's teeth sank into his lower lip, his face twisting up. Tears overflowed from his eyes, rolling down both of his cheeks. Harris reached out, stroking DJ's hair away from his face. “It's okay,” he said, and the words were so stupid and useless that he hated himself for saying them. But DJ's body shook with a deep breath, and then another one. “Good boy,” he said. “Slow and easy, okay? It's gonna be fine. It's going to be just fine. It's-” He swallowed. “It's going to be okay.”

He heard the suite door open, and relief shot through him. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Heavy footfalls echoed through the suite. “Harris? DJ?” Steve called.

“Back here,” Harris called back, and Steve poked his head into the bedroom, Tony right on his heels. They were both in t-shirts and shorts, clearly fresh out of bed, and Steve's face was pinched with worry. But he managed a smile for DJ.

“Had a bad dream, huh?” he asked.

DJ stared up at Steve, his face twisting with misery. Tears rolling silently down his cheeks, he held out his hands. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Do you need a hug?”

It was, apparently, the right thing to say. DJ lunged for him, his feet kicking at the blankets, at the pillows, throwing himself forward with all the strength he had in his tiny body. Steve reached out, catching him and lifting him up against his chest. DJ's hands latched onto Steve's shirt, clawing at the fabric, trying desperately to pull himself up.

For an instant, they stood there, Steve cradling DJ against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around DJ's small form. DJ was visibly shaking, and the muscles of Steve's shoulders were tight against the thin cotton of his t-shirt, too much strain for such a small burden. When DJ finally began sobbing aloud, the sudden violence of the sound was startling.

Steve sank down onto the edge of the bed, hugging DJ tight. “It's okay,” he said, his voice low and soft. “It's all right. It was just a bad dream. You're safe.” Steve shifted DJ's weight, tucking him against his shoulder. “It's going to be all right,” he whispered. “I promise.”

DJ's fingers were shaking, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. But his breathing was smoothing out, his racking sobs tapering away in fits and starts. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but color was leeching back into his cheeks, into his lips. He buried his face in the crook of Steve's neck and Steve rubbed his back with one broad hand.

Steve's lips brushed over DJ's curls. “I'm so sorry, baby,” he said, the words aching with pain, and Harris pushed himself to his feet. Steve looked up at him, and Harris shook his head. 

“Be right back,” he mouthed, and Steve nodded.

Tony was still standing in the doorway, his face unreadable, his arms crossed tight over his chest. There was something closed off about his posture, about the dark hollows that hid his eyes, but Harris wasn't capable of even trying to figure it out. On his way out of the room, he grabbed Tony's arm, dragging him out of the bedroom. “Get a bottle of water from the kitchen,” he said, and Tony stared at him as if he'd never seen him before. Harris gave his arm a slight shake. “Tony?”

Tony blinked, his face clearing in an instant. “Water?” he started, and almost halfway through the word, seemed to understand. “Right. Water. Got it. I can, I can do that.” But he didn't move.

Harris leaned in. “Get a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen,” he said, and this time, it seemed to sink in. Tony turned on his bare heel and headed for the kitchen at a pace just under a jog. Harris sucked in a breath, and grabbed Thor's sweatshirt from the couch. Going back into the bedroom, he held it out. “Here,” he said to Steve. “This might help. Deej? Want your sweatshirt?”

DJ didn't say a word, but he raised first his head, then his arms, allowing Harris to wrap the fabric around him before he collapsed back against Steve's chest. As soon as he did, Harris headed to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth from the stack and running cold water over it. Wringing it out, he headed back into the bedroom, where Steve was rocking DJ back and forth, whispering something to him. “Here,” Harris said, holding the washcloth out to him. Steve looked at it, confusion sliding over his face. “Wipe his face,” Harris explained. “He's been crying, he's going to be all sticky.”

“Sticky and snotty,” Tony agreed, walking back in with a bottle of water clutched in one hand. 

“Classy, Stark,” Steve said, but he was smiling as he took the washcloth from Harris. “Hey, Deej, let me get your face, okay? You don't want to end up stuck to the pillows.”

DJ made a thin, high whine of displeasure, but he sat patiently as Steve wiped gently at his cheeks and his swollen red eyelids. After a second, he leaned into the contact, wrinkling his nose as Steve swiped at it. “Better?” Steve asked. Tony held out the water bottle, and Steve took it.

“Better,” DJ said, very quietly. 

Steve nodded, taking the top off of the bottle and holding it out. DJ took a quick sip, then pushed it away. He curled against Steve's shoulder again. “Sing?” he asked.

“Sing?” Steve repeated.

DJ nodded. “Sing?” he asked, and it was pleading. “Please?”

“I don't-” Steve looked up, panic crossing his face out of DJ's line of sight. He looked at Tony, who shrugged.

“I don't, either,” he said, retreating back to the bedroom door. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Jarvis, can you-”

DJ shook his head. “It's-” He sucked in a slow breath. “Okay,” he finished. The word was toneless, emotionless. He closed his eyes, and repeated, “It's okay.”

Harris leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He licked his lips, and sucked in a nervous breath. “Poor, sweet baby,” he sang, his voice awkward and low. He winced, but just closed his eyes and kept going. “Poor, poor, sweet, sweet baby. When you need a shoulder come and try mine on for size.”

His face felt hot, but he soldiered on, his voice steadying as he found the right octave. “I'm real good at holding hands and really great at drying eyes.” He opened his eyes, focusing on DJ's little face. “Just try me, cry me all your tears. Why deny me the pleasure of dryin' 'em, stoppin' you cryin' em?”

DJ smiled at him from Steve's shoulder, and Harris smiled back. “Don't despair for, smiles are what I'm there for. You won't have to look for me, I'll always be right here.” He leaned forward, his voice going soft. “Near to kiss and cuddle you and whisper in your little ear; Don't fear.”

DJ's eyes closed, and he rubbed his cheek against Steve's shoulder. Steve stroked his hair with a gentle hand, and DJ let out a sigh, his body going lax with it.

“There, there, baby,” Harris whispered. “Poor, sweet baby. Poor, sweet baby. We're here.”

The last word seemed to echo in the quiet room, Harris' voice wobbling on the final note. But DJ was still now, his breathing coming in slow, regular gusts. Steve's head was bent over his, his body swaying back and forth, a subtle sort of rocking motion.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and finally, Steve looked up, meeting Harris' eyes. Harris crept forward, one step and then two, leaning over to peer into DJ's face. “I think he's asleep,” he whispered, and Steve's shoulders relaxed. Slowly, carefully, he stood, and Harris pulled the blankets back, letting Steve lower DJ onto the bed.

It was Steve who pulled the blankets up, tucking the boy in, and then jerked his head towards the door. Harris nodded, padding in that direction. Only after they were back in the living room with the door shut silently behind them, was Harris able to breathe. He slumped against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can we not do that again?” he asked.

Steve chuckled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I think we did all right,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “I mean. Considering the circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Harris said, drawing the word out. “Still don't want to do it again.”

“If you don't practice, how're you ever going to get better?” Steve asked.

“I prefer not to practice things I'm bad at and don't actually want to ever do again,” Harris said. “As you can tell by my excellent singing voice.” 

Steve glanced at him. “You did better than me,” he pointed out. “Never heard that song before, though.”

“Not a surprise. It's from a musical, my mom was a big-” Harris shrugged. “She really liked musical theater, and I don't think DJ wanted to hear 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' from Oklahoma! right now.”

“It was nice,” Steve said, “I just wasn't expecting-” His back went straight. “Wait, where's Tony?”

Harris' head snapped around. “I don't know,” he admitted, too tired to feel much of anything. “He was here just a second ago, I didn't even see-”

“Jarvis?” Steve asked.

“I believe you will be able to locate him down in the workshop,” Jarvis said, his voice quiet. He didn't volunteer anything more, and Harris was glad.

“Right,” Steve said, his head bobbing in a quick nod.

“Sorry,” Harris said. “I kind of, I snapped at him.”

“Sometimes, he needs that, he gets wrapped up in his own head,” Steve said, a faint smile playing around his lips. “He's a smart guy, but sometimes, I don't think his brain is fully on his side, if you know what I mean?”

“That's not just a problem for smart guys,” Harris said.

“No, it's not, but when his brain turns on him, it's a sneakier opponent than the one most of us have to deal with,” Steve said. “I should check on him, I'm sure he's just gone back to work on recreating Reed's machine, but-” He stopped, his mouth going thin. “I should check on him.” He glanced at DJ's bedroom door. “Can you handle this?” 

Harris nodded. “Yeah, I'll just-” He waved a hand at the living room. “I've got my laptop, I'm going to work for a while, see if I can't get caught up. He shoved a hand through the air. “Is Tony okay?” he asked.

Steve took a deep breath. “I'll let you know,” he said, with a tight smile. He took a step towards the door, then stopped. “If he wakes up again-”

“I don't think he will,” Harris said.

“If he does,” Steve repeated, his voice stern, “have Jarvis call us, understand?”

Harris nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I think that's my line,” Steve said. He looked at the door, then back at Harris. “Are you all right?”

Harris blinked at him. “What?”

Steve stilled. “Are you all right?” he repeated, his brow wrinkling.

“Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm-” Harris waved a hand through the air, shaking his head. “I'm fine. Really. We're doing okay here.”

Steve studied him, blue eyes sharp in the low light. “All right,” he said at last. “If you need anything-”

“I'll let you know,” Harris agreed. He watched as Steve slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him. “Yeah,” he repeated to the empty room. “I'm okay. I'm fine.”

He sank down on the couch. “I'm going to be fine,” he said, because maybe if he kept repeating it, he'd start to believe it.

*

Tony jammed the wrench into place and yanked back, hard, not really caring about the resistance. Rage sizzled along his nerve endings, and he felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a sharp snarl. He braced a foot against the wall and ripped the bolt free, ignoring the sharp crack as the fatigued metal gave way.

The whole thing shifted, metal edges grinding against each other as the support gave way, and Tony bit off a curse, grabbing hold of the panel and shoving it back into place. The wrench slipped from his hand, clattering across the floor as he tried to push the edges back into alignment.

“Fuck,” he hissed out under his breath. And then, because if felt good, “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

He braced his feet and shoved hard, the muscles of his back and shoulders straining as he forced the frame back. His feet slipped on the floor, bare soles scraping hard on the concrete, and Tony made a desperate grab for the workbench. “Goddamn it, don't you fucking dare,” he snarled. “Don't you- DUMMY!”

A hand clamped down on the metal inches from his face. “On three,” Steve snapped, bracing his shoulder against the frame. Cursing under his breath, Tony nodded. “One,” Steve said, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “Two. Three!”

Tony shoved as hard as he could, and there was a shriek of metal on metal as they forced it back. The edge of the panel dug into Tony's shoulder, a slice of pain, and he gritted his teeth. It took a couple of seconds, and then the piece rocked back against the frame. “You got it?” Tony asked, and Steve gave him a tense nod. “Hold it, I've got to secure it.”

“Just do it,” Steve said, through clenched teeth.

It only took a minute, maybe two, but when he was sure that the strapping would hold, he pushed back. “Okay, let it go,” he said, and Steve ducked down and away. The frame shuddered, rocking on its supports, but it held, and Tony slumped back against the workbench.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked, his hands braced on his knees. His chest flexed with the force of his breathing, but he didn't seem to notice. 

“Fine,” Tony said. “You?”

Steve waved him off. “What were you thinking-”

“I was thinking that since I was awake, I might as well get some work done. Piece of junk,” Tony snarled. “Gonna melt it down for scrap, no, it doesn't even deserve to be scrap, doesn't deserve to be melted down, I'm going to shove it off a pier into the Hudson, I don't care what it costs, I am going to toss it off a pier or a cliff or out of a goddamn plane, see if I don't.” He grabbed his wrench from the floor and tossed it roughly towards the workbench. It hit with a metallic clatter. “DUMMY!”

“He's not here.”

Tony froze. Behind him, he heard Steve exhale. “You remember that, don't you? You haven't had a chance to rebuild him yet.”

“Right.” Tony stared at the wall. His hand was shaking as he shoved it through his hair. “Yeah, of course, I-” He blinked hard. “I've been busy.”

“You are planning on rebuilding him.” It wasn't a question, but somehow it was. Steve's voice was quiet, almost coaxing. Tony didn't say anything, he just reached for his welding torch. “Tony.”

“What?” he snapped. “I'm kind of busy here. Don't know if you noticed, but I have things to do, things that kind of take precedent. I do not have the time to rebuild Dummy from scratch right now, and I sure as hell don't have time for twenty questions.” He turned, spreading his arms wide. “I'm fine. I'm just busy.” The last word came out in a shout, echoing hollowly in the empty room.

Steve studied him, his face unreadable. “You are going to rebuild him, aren't you?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Tony turned back to the misshapen hunk of metal that had once been a viable prototype. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Steve, I don't know why it matters at this point.”

“I think it matters to you,” Steve said, and Tony's arm came up. He didn't even know he was going to do it until his fist slammed into the unyielding metal. Pain seared over his nerve endings, shooting up the length of his arm, and he before it even started to fade, he reared back, his arm coming up for another swing.

“Hey!” Steve caught his wrist, stopping him before he could do it, his other arm wrapping securely around Tony's waist, holding him back. “Tony, what the-”

“Piece of SHIT,” Tony snarled, and Steve's arm tightened. 

"If you want to break something," Steve said, his voice low and measured, "then we'll go down to the gym, and we'll break something." His fingers spread, smoothing along the flat of Tony's stomach, a soothing sort of contact. "But it's not going to be you. We need you." His fingers squeezed, one last time, and then slid away from Tony's wrist. "And we need you intact."

Tony huffed out a breath, his shoulders flexing with the force of it. "Yeah. Right." 

“Hey.” Steve stepped around him, staying in reach, staying close enough that Tony could feel the heat from his body. “Look at me.”

Tony forced his head up, meeting Steve's eyes. “Yes, darling?” he drawled.

One corner of Steve's mouth twitched up. “Why do I only get a pet name when you're being sarcastic?” he asked, leaning back against the bench. “Rhodey gets them all the time.”

“Aw, are you jealous?” Tony asked, but it didn't come out nearly as cutting as he'd intended.

“Little bit,” Steve said, his soft smile reaching his eyes this time. He studied Tony with a steady gaze. “Were you?”

It took him a second, it took an eternity, but then he realized what Steve meant, and his stomach bottomed out. “Is that what you think?” he asked, aggression curling through the words. “Really? Is that really what you think, Rogers? That I, what, that I was jealous of you? Because he asked for you?”

“I think,” Steve said, “that we both left Harris down there to handle something that isn't his responsibility. I think that this whole thing has been more of a strain on you than I realized.”

“I'm fine,” Tony said, and it sounded hollow to his ears. “I'm-” He shook his head. “I'm fine.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” Steve said. He folded his arms over his chest, his head tipping forward. “I can tell because you left without a word and came down here and tried to get into a fistfight with something that isn't exactly in your weight class.”

Tony shrugged. “Not that you'd know anything about fighting out of your weight class,” he pointed out.

“I know I lost a lot,” Steve said. “I know I ended up hurt every time.” His eyes came up, just far enough to meet Tony's. “I know I hate it when you're the one who's hurting.” He shook his head. “I hate that, Tony.”

Tony took a deep breath. “I'd think you'd be used to it by now.”

“Tony, I love you. I am never going to be used to it,” Steve said. 

Tony picked up a screwdriver, rolling it between his fingertips. “Why did he ask for you?” he asked, and it sounded forlorn. It sounded pathetic. He laughed, sharp and bitter, his fingers forming a fist around the tool. “Fuck it, we both know why, don't we?”

“No. We don't.” Steve braced his hands on the workbench, on either side of his hips, pushing his shoulders forward. “Maybe his Steve is home more. Maybe his father gets so little sleep that Steve takes care of him in the middle of the night. Maybe-”

“Maybe his father is an abusive asshole,” Tony said. He looked up. “Odds are pretty good on that.”

For a long moment, Steve was silent. “Maybe,” he said, his voice very quiet, “you're looking for things that aren't there, Tony.”

Tony slammed the screwdriver down. “Steve-”

“He didn't want me, Tony,” Steve said. “He wanted something that he couldn't have, and I was a substitution that he could handle.” He fell silent. “Why didn't he ask for you?”

Tony's fingers were aching. He forced his hand open, letting the screwdriver clatter to the bench. “Steve-” he repeated, desperate to stop this now.

“Maybe asking for his dad, when his dad is not here, maybe that's more than he can handle. Maybe that hurts too much,” Steve said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “He's just a little kid, Tony. He's a little kid, and someone who looks and sounds and acts like his dad doesn't know who he is.”

He looked up, and his eyes were agonized. “And I can't help him, and I can't help you. And I don't know if I just did more damage to him by trying to help him, and-” His voice broke, and without thinking, Tony opened his arms. 

“C'mere,” he said, and Steve stepped into his embrace. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders, hugging him tight. “You gave him what he needed.”

Steve's arms slipped around Tony's waist. “I wish I could believe that,” he said. 

“Yeah, well, I do.” Tony closed his eyes. “He asked for you because you really do give the best hugs.” 

He felt, as much as heard, Steve's laugh. “Oh, is that why?”

“It's known. Best hugs on the team, we all agree.”

“I missed that team meeting.”

“You were late. We get the important things out of the way before you show up,” Tony explained, just to make Steve laugh again. “Better than mine, that's for sure.”

“See, this is the difference,” Steve whispered against Tony's hair. “You don't trust Tony Stark. And I do.” 

Tony smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah, well, you're an idiot,” he said, and Steve's arms tightened.

“You are not your father,” he said. He leaned back, just far enough to meet Tony's eyes. “He had his flaws. And you have yours, Tony. But you are not your father.”

Tony kissed him, because that was easier. “You'd know?” he whispered, and Steve laughed against his mouth.

“I'd know,” he said. He leaned his forehead against Tony's. “And I know one other thing. Somewhere out there, there is a Tony Stark who doesn't know where his child is, who has no idea what's happening to his son. He doesn't know if DJ is safe, or even alive.” He cradled Tony's jaw in his hand. “I don't know him. But I know you.

“I saw you that time those idiots thought it was a good idea to detain Pepper in that backwater airport. I've seen you when Clint's late for a check-in after a mission, and when Nat goes off grid. I've seen you when Rhodey gets a mission and we don't know where he is or when he'll be back, let alone what he's doing.” He kissed Tony, his lips lingering against Tony's mouth. “I've seen what you're like when you lose someone, even for a short time.”

Tony took a deep breath. “Rational and well-reasoned?” he tried.

“Not quite,” Steve said, laughter curling through the words. His arms tightened around Tony's waist. 

“Not even close?”

“Not even close,” Steve agreed. “If he's anything like you...” His voice trailed away.

“He's losing his mind,” Tony finished for him. Steve nodded. Tony took a deep breath, and Steve rubbed his back. “He's got a Steve. So someone's watching out for him.”

“If he's capable of it right now,” Steve said. “He's probably not doing much better.”

Tony met his eyes. “We'll get him home,” he said. 

Steve gave him a smile, slight and sad as it was. “I know you will.” He kissed Tony. “And then I'll help you rebuild Dummy.”

Tony took a deep breath. “I'd say I don't need help with that, but...” He shrugged. “I probably do.”

“If I waited for you to need me,” Steve said, a faint smile curling his lips, “I'd never be useful.” He pulled back. “But for now, I think we both need some sleep.” He side-eyed Tony's project. “Unless you'd like to go another few rounds with your friend here.”

“It can wait until the morning.” Tony glanced back at the spot where Dummy's charging station should be. “And Steve? I need you.”

“I'm glad. I need you, too.”

“Yeah?” Tony grinned. “In bed?”

Steve choked on a burst of laughter. “Wow.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a tiny bit.” Steve paused, his cheeks flushing. “Okay, a little, go.”

*

“Have a seat, Mr. McIntyre.”

Harris froze in the doorway. “What happened?” he asked. His voice was steady, but his heartbeat was already pounding in his ears, hard and sharp and way too fast. “Where's-”

“It's fine,” Agent Coulson said. He looked up from his position on the couch, a stack of file folders on the coffee table in front of him. “Agent Billings took DJ downstairs to check on the progress being made in the workshop. They'll be back up in a half hour or so.” Harris stared at him, and Coulson waved a hand at the chair opposite him. “Have a seat, Mr. McIntyre.”

His legs weren't quite steady underneath him, but he managed to cross the room without losing what little dignity he had. “You know this isn't your office, right?” he asked, sinking down into the chair. Coulson made a noncommittal sound under his breath, his attention on the file open on his knee. “This isn't even SHIELD. It's, it's a bad guest room.”

Coulson glanced up, his eyes sharp over the rims of his reading glasses. “I carry my office with me. Less a physical space and more an aura.” He flipped a page, initialing it with a flick of his pen. “It's a useful talent to have, since I find myself having to have these discussions in places that are not exactly my home turf.” He turned another page, his head bent over it. “Case in point.”

“Case in point,” Harris agreed. He shifted forward, his hands folded in his lap. “Sir? Why are you here?”

“How're you feeling?” Coulson asked, his pen scratching across the page.

Harris' shoulders came up. “I'm fine,” he said, and it sounded defensive, even to his ears. He forced himself to relax, to flatten his hands against his thighs. To breathe.

“Are you?”

Harris bit back a very ill-advised response. Instead, he took a deep breath, and another, settling his jangled nerves. “Yes. I had my medical check last week. I'm fine.”

“And how did your therapy session go today?”

“Fine,” Harris said.

Coulson's pen paused in the middle of an upstroke. “Just fine?” he asked, his mouth twitching upwards.

Harris' back teeth locked in place. He took another deep breath through his nose. “Fine,” he repeated. Coulson looked up at him, eyes steady behind his glasses. “I don't know what you're expecting from me here, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson put his cap back on his pen, the movements slow and deliberate. “I don't have any expectations, Mr. McIntyre. What I have is some concerns.” He balanced the pen between his fingers, rolling it between his fingertips. “So I'm asking you. How are you?”

Harris stared at him. “Fine,” he said, through set teeth. “I. Am. Fine, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson exhaled, a faint sigh. “You've made a remarkable recovery,” he said, his voice quiet. “I don't want you to doubt that. You underwent a very trying ordeal.”

“I just finished therapy,” Harris said, He reached up, rubbing hard at the bridge of his nose. “I- Have just had this discussion, and you are not my therapist, Agent Coulson.”

“Have you?”

“What?”

Coulson sat back, his pen still rolling back and forth between his fingers. Light glinted off the silver barrel with each rotation. “Have you been discussing this with your therapist?”

“When I have to,” Harris said. “Look, it's fine. It's-” He shook his head. “It happened. I made bad choices, I got myself into a bad situation, and I got out of it.”

Coulson's fingers stilled. “You spent more than a year with a gun to your head,” he said, his voice very quiet. “A literal gun, and it was not an idle threat.”

“And I got out,” Harris said. He concentrated on his breathing, on the slow, easy flow of air into his lungs. He concentrated on reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with him, that he could breathe, that he was fine. He took a breath, and told himself that it didn't hurt.

He looked up. “Why are we having this discussion now, Agent Coulson?”

“Because there is a strain on you right now that we weren't expecting at this point in your recovery,” Coulson said. “And some of the medical staff doesn't think it's advisable to let this continue.”

Harris' head twitched in the direction of DJ's room. “You have a better plan?” he asked, trying for a lightness that he didn't feel.

Coulson tucked his pen in the inner pocket of his coat and smoothed it back into place. “We can get him someone with the proper training. As well as the proper emotional distance.”

Anything approaching humor died a swift death. “He doesn't need emotional distance, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson considered him, then closed the file on his knee, setting it carefully on the table before he reached up to pull his glasses off. “How do you know what he needs?” His eyebrows arched, his mouth a flat line. “Because that's what you got?”

“I don't see how my personal history is relevant here,” Harris said. His fingers were locked on the arms of the chair, and he made an effort to loosen them, to release his deathgrip. 

“Don't you?”

“No,” he said, sharply. “I don't. We're going to get him home. You know that. We are going to get him home, this whole thing is temporary, and I'm fine. I can do this. I can be a stable point for him, for a few days, or a few weeks.”

“And if it stretches on longer than that?” Coulson crossed his legs, his reading glasses dangling from his hand.

“Then we'll figure that out when it happens,” Harris said.

Coulson's eyes dropped to the table. “I wondered, you know. When we were putting together your dossier, your files. So much of it didn't fit your psychological profile. It didn't make sense, the things you'd done, the risks you'd taken.” His fingers twisted, swinging his glasses back and forth, slow and steady. “It was like trying to put together a puzzle where all the pieces fit, but the images don't match up.”

His eyes slid up, locking Harris in place. “How much of it was carefully calculated, Mr. McIntyre?”

“I think we're done here,” Harris said, pushing himself upright. He was shaking, and he didn't know why, and he didn't want to think about it. 

Coulson didn't move. “How many of the incidents were you acting out your grief,” Coulson asked, his voice calm, “and how many of them were just your best effort to get him to send you back?”

Harris turned on him, the spike of rage that rolled through him so blinding that for a moment, he thought that it was going to come out in a wordless, guttural scream. Instead, it came out in three soft, still words, “Go fuck yourself.”

“How much of this,” Coulson asked, waving a hand around the apartment, “is you trying to make amends, Mr. McIntyre? Because that, that will not sustain you.”

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, and he hated it, he hated the sensation of being trapped, being helpless. He sucked in a breath, and another, because he would not lose, not this time, not ever again.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, the words coming so fast that they seemed to flow together. “Tell me! You know so much, you know everything, what am I supposed to do? What am I-” He swung a hand in the direction of the closed door, the gesture short and violent. “He can't leave here and he's got no one else, so I'm not much, I'm NOTHING, you think I don't know that?” He let out a short, vicious burst of laughter. “I'm more aware of it than you will ever be, but you know what? I'm here and I can figure it out, I can learn.”

He took a step forward, frustration twisting through him. “I didn't want this. I never wanted any of this! I wanted to write computer programs and have a featureless cubicle somewhere, and two weeks of vacation and a health plan, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know what I'm doing, ever!

“So we're lost, him and I, and I know, I know I'm not capable of looking after a kid, I know I'm the worst person to do this, I don't know much but I know what it's like to be alone.” His throat closed, and his head fell forward. “I know what it's like to be very lost and very angry and just want your parents back.” His breath shuddered out of him, leaving him drained and empty. “So, I'm not much. But I'm what he's got.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I might be all he's got. And that means, I've got to be enough. I have to be.”

He looked up, empty and hollow and broken in a way that he could not allow himself to linger on. “I am fine,” he said. “Because, right now, I have to be.”

Coulson arched an eyebrow, his first change of expression since Harris had started screaming at him. “Do you want me to have your cubicle moved?” he asked. “There's a windowless basement we reserve for the really uptight agents.”

Harris stared at him. Coulson stared back. "I swear to fuck I will punch you,” Harris said.

A faint smile crossed Coulson's face. “You're overdue for that, actually.” He shut the file, letting his spread fingers rest on top of it. “Every agent I've brought in has taken a swing at me at some point.” He blinked, slow and deliberate, and there was a hint of humor in his face, hovering around his lips. “I was starting to worry that you were going to be the exception.”

“Does it occur to you that this is because you are the intelligence agency equivalent of a kid dragging home a massive, angry snapping turtle with the idea of keeping it as a pet?” Harris asked him. “And keeping it in the bathtub and hoping no one notices?”

“That would explain Barton,” Coulson mused. He picked up his file and opened it. “You should call him.”

"Who, Barton? I would, but you seem the jealous type."

"I am," Coulson said, without so much as changing expression. "And you know very well that's not who I'm talking about."

Harris gave a short laugh. “It's been seven years,” he said. Coulson looked up, his eyebrows arched. “I doubt the number I have is good anymore.”

Coulson turned a page, and put his glasses back on. “I think you'd be surprised.”

“I don't think-”

“'Home is the place where, when you have to go there,'” Coulson said, his voice quiet, “they have to take you in.'”

Harris braced a hand on the back of his chair, steadying himself. “Death of a Hired Hand,” he said, and Coulson nodded, without looking up. “I hate that line.”

“Why?”

“Because I'll be damned if I'll be an obligation,” Harris said. And because that was too personal, he added, “If I'll let him become an obligation.”

“Is that how you read that?”

“What other way-” Harris stopped, pressing both shaking hands to his face. “Why are we discussing this?”

Coulson turned another page. “I have a niece, and two nephews,” he said, his voice calm. “They have parents who love them, and grandparents who love them, and an aunt who loves them. And they'd be better off with any of them, if the worst happened, then they would be with me.

“I work too much. My job is dangerous. I live far from the home they've always known. This place-” he waved a hand at the building around them. “Is a target. They would be better off pretty much anywhere. But-” He tapped a finger against the page. “If they had to come to me, then I would have to take them in.”

He looked up. “Not because they are an obligation, Mr. McIntyre. Not because society would think less of me if I didn't. Not because it's my duty. Because if they came to me, there is no way I could turn them away. It's not in me. If they have to come here, I would have to take them in, because there is nothing in me that would allow me to turn them away. There is no logic, no law, no attempt at common sense that could get me to give them up.”

His eyes were clear and sharp. “Home is where there are people incapable of turning you away,” he said, his voice quiet. “He was your home. For a short time, but-” He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. “The number you have will still work.”

He could breathe. He could. He had to. “How do you know?”

“Because if you had to go there, he will still take you in. And the only way he'd know, is if he kept that phone number.” He smiled, a sad, slight little smile. “He still has it.”

Breathing hurt. He did it anyway. “I ruined his life,” Harris said.

“I doubt he'd see it that way.” Coulson looked at his watch. “You should check on DJ. I'm sure he's missing you by now.”

Harris looked at the suite door. “Yeah. I should.” But he didn't move. “Agent Coulson?”

Coulson didn't look up, but he made an inquiring sort of sound.

“Don't fire me,” Harris said. “I kind of need this job.” He scrubbed his hands against his legs. “I have a kid now.”

“You do have responsibilities,” Coulson agreed. He turned a page. “We are not going to fire you, Mr. McIntyre. We like getting in on the ground floor with individuals. Builds loyalty.” He smiled. “Like having our own farm team.”

“You scare me, sir.”

“That's kind of the point, Mr. McIntyre.” He put his reading glasses back on. “And Harris? If you stop being fine, we need to know about it. For your sake, as well as his.”

Harris moved towards the door, and he hurt. “You'll be the first to know, sir.”

“I'm actually afraid that might be true.”

*

"See," Darcy said, leaning over DJ's back. "We made a roller coaster, right?"

He rocked forward, just a bit, shifting in her lap as he considered the tablet in his hands. Then he slumped back against her again, holding the tablet up at eye level. "Right," he said.

"Now, here's the fun part." Darcy tapped on the screen, setting down brightly colored tiles of queue line. "If we do THIS, then as everyone enters our theme park, then they're forced to get in line for the roller coaster. Which is fine, our theme park is called 'Nothing But Roller Coasters' so I have to assume that they wanted to ride roller coasters, or else, why are they here? We're just making it easier for them to find the coaster and ride it, right?”

"Right," DJ said. He blinked as the tiny animated coaster went whirring around the loops. 

"So they get on, and they ride the roller coaster, and then-" At the exit of the coaster, Darcy set the land at an angle, dropping it down just one step, and putting a square of path on it. "There we go."

He studied the results. "Why?"

"Because-" She hovered her finger over the screen. "They enter, they're forced onto the roller coaster, then when they get off, they're stuck. They're not smart enough to find the path, and even if they could, they can't get out. We are literally sticking them in a pit. Like a pack of ever more angry molemen. Then..."

Almost chortling to herself, she plopped down some extras. "We give them access to drinks for really cheap, and a bathroom at a cost of ten bucks. Walking back and forth, they'll be angry and thirsty, and since the drinks are cheap, they will buy drinks. And then they will pay us every cent they've got for access to a bathroom."

She grinned. "Hundreds and hundreds of tiny little park guests, drinking, going to the bathroom. Drinking, going to the bathroom. Getting angrier and more crowded every time people get off the roller coaster. All stuck on one little square of land."

"What are you, Satan?" 

Darcy grinned. "If it makes you feel better," she said to Harris, who was giving her a distinctly disapproving look from the doorway, "we are going to fail this scenario. We are going to fail it so hard."

"So why do it?" Harris wandered over, still rubbing his head with a damp towel. "I was gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“I'm a fast worker.” Darcy grinned up at him. “You look like an annoyed dandelion.”

“You're making the most miserable theme park ever, so I think I'm still winning.” He smiled down at DJ. “Don't listen to her, Deej. She might be evil.”

“Rude!” Darcy said, grinning. He was adorable, all pink skin and damp hair, his eyes bright behind the lenses of his glasses. “Did you order the pizza?”

“I ordered the pizza,” Harris agreed. He tossed the towel onto a side table. “Deej, want pizza?”

"Roller coaster," DJ said, grinning down at the tablet. Darcy watched, amused, as he set about adding intricate theming to their pit. It was going to be the best decorated pit in history. She was oddly proud of him.

"Really want to mess with it?" Darcy asked. She brought up another menu. "The AI of the game automatically increases the happiness of the park guests when they encounter a mascot, see, you can have one dressed as a panda or a tiger, and they walk around." She gestured at it. "Put like six of them in the pit."

"Wow," Harris said, plopping down next to them on the couch.

"Shut up, you," she said, her nose in the air. "It's now a HAPPINESS PIT."

"Where they're charged ten bucks for access to a bathroom after you give them soda for a dime," Harris said.

"It's smart selling."

“It's where happiness goes to die,” Harris said.

“But the guests can't die unless there's a catastrophic failure of one of the rides,” Darcy said. She paused. “Or if you fill the pit with water. Then they all drown.” Harris stared at her. Darcy grinned at him. “Usually I just drown the angry ones, they bring down your park score,” she explained.

“Darcy, no.”

“You love me,” she said, unconcerned.

“Less with every mass murder.” There was a knock on the door, and he pushed himself up. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said, looking down at DJ's work. “Ready to open your park, Mr. Stark?” DJ nodded, and she poked the button. “Let the joy pit be filled!”

“I was gonna say, 'pizza,' but after that, I don't think it's got the same impact.”

Darcy looked up, grinning as Clint wandered into the room, carrying two pizza boxes braced against his hip. “Hey there, hot stuff,” she said.

“I'd say thanks, but you're talking to the pizzas, aren't you?” Clint asked. 

“Yep.” She nudged DJ. “You remember Clint, right?” DJ peered over the edge of his tablet, gave a quick nod, then went back to his game. “You're not impressive,” Darcy explained.

“I'm aware.” Clint set the pizzas down, just as Harris appeared, a stack of plates in his hands. There were four glass soda bottles balanced on top, rattling lightly against each other with every step.

“Is it okay if Clint has dinner with us?” Harris asked DJ. DJ nodded, not looking up, and Harris took a seat. “Thank you, DJ.”

“Do you want pizza?” Darcy asked, and DJ shook his head. “Okay. Do you want to keep sitting here while I eat, or sit by yourself and play your game?”

“Game,” he said, wriggling out of her lap. He plopped down on the floor, crossing his legs under him.

“What're you playing?” Clint asked, as Harris handed out plates. Darcy reached for one of the pizza boxes, and he tugged it out of reach.

“Roller Coaster Tycoon,” she said. “Old, but fun. He's really good at making roller coasters. He has a bright future ahead of him in ride design.”

“Or Roomba repair,” Harris said, stepping over DJ's constant robot companion as he moved to the couch. Darcy swiped a piece of meat lovers from the box and slid it towards him. “Thanks, Darce.”

Clint took a big bite of his pizza. “Not bad,” he mused.

“What are you even doing here?” Darcy asked him, picking rings of pepper off of her slice and eating them first. “Do we need bodyguarding? Or Avengering?”

He shrugged. “I was going to see if Harris needed a break, actually. Didn't know you were here.” He snagged a melting chunk of cheese from the box, popping it in his mouth. “Thought you were still, you know, sciencing.”

“We had a long day of sciencing, and DJ helped, and then certain people started arguing and I decided we'd had enough science for the day,” Darcy said. “Way too much science, in some ways.” She folded her legs under her, leaning against Harris' shoulder. He kissed her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. 

“Thanks,” he said, and she smiled. 

“I want all your crusts,” she said, and he laughed. But he handed over a crust, and she took it with a sense of glee. “Besides, you can't babysit. You cannot be trusted.”

“I babysat you for months.”

“I'm not delicate and precious and perfect like DJ is,” she said. She flexed an arm, nearly clocking Harris in the side of the head. He barely seemed to notice. “I'm a scrapper. I can take it. He needs protection.”

“I'm good at that,” Clint said, stuffing half a slice into his mouth in one bite.

“You're what he needs protecting from,” Darcy told him.

“Clint babysits,” DJ said. He looked up, setting the tablet down on the table in front of him. “Want to see?”

Darcy looked at Clint, who had stopped chewing. Then, slowly, his jaw started to move again. “Sure,” he said, his mouth full, and DJ dug into his pocket, coming up with his phone. He moved to the side, holding it up so they could see, and Darcy sprawled across Harris' lap to get a better view. He moved his plate, and Clint moved his chair.

The video flickered to life. On it, DJ was staring up at the camera, his eyes huge. "Well?" Steve's voice came from off screen. DJ shook his head. "Let me see." There was laughter in the words, and DJ's face scrunched up in a happy smile. "Let me seeeeeeeee," Steve sing-songed at him, and DJ grinned.

There was a distinct gap where one of his front teeth should be.

"Look at that," Steve said. 

"Tongue," DJ said, before sticking the tip of it through the hole.

"Impressive," Steve said, and DJ nodded, obviously proud of himself and his missing tooth.

"He's fine," Clint said from behind DJ. "See? Fine." The camera shifted, pulling back so that she could see Clint and Tony hovering just behind DJ.

"He was intact when we left," Tony said, a hand pressed to his face. "What- How-" He stopped, the words choking off. "We were gone for AN HOUR."

"It's a baby tooth," Steve said, and Tony glared at the camera, and the man holding it. "It's a baby tooth," Steve repeated, slowly, his voice full of banked laughter. "He's going to lose his baby teeth. It's a thing that is going to happen, Tony."

"I did not agree to this," Tony said, pointing in Steve's direction. "I did not."

"Pretty sure it doesn't require your agreement, Tony."

"Pretty sure it does!" Tony braced a hand on DJ's head, and DJ looked up at him. "We had a deal, kid. You would stay small and adorable and then one day, you'd be fully grown, preferably packed and ready to be shipped off to MIT. I did not agree to awkward growing things, if I wanted that, I could trade you in for a regular kid."

DJ stuck his tongue out through the gap. "It bled," he said, gleeful about it.

Clint groaned, his head falling back. "I thought we decided we weren't going to tell them that," he said, morose.

"Nope," DJ said, leaning against Tony's legs.

"Barton, I will kill you," Tony said. One hand rested easily on DJ's head, ruffling his hair. "I will kill you, and then I will find a way to resurrect you so that I can kill you again."

"I don't think you're going to do that in front of the kid-" Clint said.

"He has to sleep sometime," Tony pointed out with a saccharine smile.

"Stop threatening to kill Clint," Steve told him.

"In front of the kid?"

"At all." 

"Well, that's just impossible," Tony pointed out, and DJ made a grab for his hand. Tony let him latch on, then swung him around in a lazy, hopping circle. "No, seriously, kid, I was not an attractive tween, skip that stage. I did okay in college, aim for nineteen or twenty with a full set of adult teeth and better skin."

"Tony, stop trying to get him to skip entire developmental stages," Steve said, and Tony gave the camera an innocent look. “Stop.”

"He is not going to enjoy being twelve, trust me," he said, his voice dark. 

"No one enjoys being twelve," Clint said.

"You shut up now," Tony said to him, as DJ braced his feet against Tony's and leaned back. Tony adjusted his grip on DJ's hands, letting him hang over backwards.

"Where's your tooth now?" Steve asked DJ, who tipped his head back, looking up at Steve from an upside down position.

He considered the question. "Clint?" he asked.

"Tooth fairy has it," Clint said, tucking his hands in his pockets.

There was a moment of silence. Tony stared at Clint, who gave him a game smile. "I," Tony said at last, "am the tooth fairy.” He spread his hands out, pulling DJ back up. “Unless there's something you want to share with the class."

"Way to ruin the magic," Clint said.

"I have internet," DJ said, leaning further back. Tony bent at the waist, keeping him counter balanced without seeming to realize he was doing it. 

"You are a cynical child, you know that?" Tony said to him, and DJ grinned up at him, unrepentant. "Tooth."

Clint rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "He might have..." He gave a half shrug. "Swallowed it."

The silence was broken by DJ going, "Yep!"

“He what?” Steve didn't sound amused anymore.

“Look, he tried to put it back, and then-”

“Where was it?” His voice climbed with each word. “Why didn't you take it away from him, where-”

“Floor,” DJ said.

Another long moment of silence, and Clint shrugged. “Five second rule?”

“No,” Steve said. “Not- Not ever, Clint.”

“I'm going to have to argue this one,” Tony said. “Five second rule works sometimes.”

“Tony. No.”

“Anyway, what do you want for your first lost-” Tony's eyes closed. “Really lost tooth?”

DJ considered that. “Satellite,” he said.

“I think the internet might be lying to you about what the Tooth Fairy can fit under your pillow,” Clint said.

“No, I like this, he should have his own-” Tony started.

“No, Tony,” Steve said. 

Tony tugged DJ back upright, setting him back on his feet. “Convince him,” he said, and released DJ. 

DJ turned, caught his foot on Tony's, and went crashing facefirst into the floor with an audible thud. The image cut out with startling suddenness, the screen going black.

“Wait,” Clint asked, his mouth full of pizza. “What happened?”

DJ smiled at him. “Lost my second tooth,” he said. Everyone winced, and he laughed. “Not his fault,” he told Clint. 

Clint balanced his plate on his knee. “He babysit a lot?” he asked.

DJ grinned up at him, his teeth perfect. “Yes,” he said. And with that, he put his phone back in his pocket and went back to his game. “Darcy?” He held up the tablet.

“Oh, maximum rage,” she said, considering the park ratings. “Here we go-” She used the ground selection tool and pulled the tile of path up to the surface and then released. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny little park goers exploded from the spot like ants fleeing from a ruined nest.

DJ watched as they scattered in all directions, swarming over the empty expanse of the map, searching in vain for the park entrance. “Again,” he said.

“Let me teach you how to crash a coaster,” Darcy said, opening his soda for him. "That's the best part."

"Seriously rethinking this relationship right now," Harris said.

"No, you're not," Clint told him.

Harris sighed. "No, I'm not," he admitted. He took a bite of pizza. "Fine. Show me how this game works, Deej."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced is "Poor Sweet Baby," from "Snoopy!" one of two musicals about the Peanuts comic strip. "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown!" is the other, and possibly more well known, but I have a weakness for Snoopy and did in fact play Peppermint Patty in Snoopy! once. I have a lot of feels for this song.
> 
> Poem referneced is "Death of a Hired Hand," by Robert Frost. It is sad. As the title suggests, it contains death.
> 
> And the game referenced is the original Roller Coaster Tycoon, not the craptastic mobile version. 8)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight warnings for fear of abandonment, and verbal arguments (non-violent) between a couple.

“Hey.”

DJ didn't move, didn't even glance back. He just sat there, still as the sphinx, on the floor in front of the workshop doors, his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around them, as if he was making himself as small as possible, or as if he was holding himself together with a force of will. His face was buried in his knees, his eyes just peeking over the top of them.

Harris paused next to him, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, his shoulders tucked forward. “Hey,” he repeated, and he didn't know if he should sound cheerful or stern or what, so it came out a little quiet, a little more coaxing than he'd intended. “You're not supposed to be down here alone. Especially not at-” He shoved a hand through his hair. “At like three am.”

DJ's shoulders rose and fell in something like a shrug. He stared, straight ahead, at the half assembled machinery, at the bots that were still rolling in easy sweeps around it. “Two,” he said.

Harris followed his gaze. “Two? Oh.” Slowly, he lowered himself down, taking a seat next to DJ on the concrete floor. “Yeah. Two. But they're hard workers.” He leaned forward. “Aren't they?” DJ nodded. “I think they like building things. Almost as much as Tony does.”

“More,” DJ said, his voice soft. He rested his chin on his knees. “They were built to build.”

“I guess they were,” Harris said. He smiled. “Does that mean they love it?”

“Yes,” DJ said. It was a simple statement of fact. His fingers picked at the knee of his pajamas, his bare toes rubbing back and forth against the floor. “I do.”

“You do, don't you?” The Roomba whirred by, sweeping from side to side in lazy, easy turns. “You did a good job on this guy.”

DJ reached out, and the Roomba, seeming to understand that it was wanted, swept towards him, bumping against his ankle, and his hip, before turning in a complete circle and finally going still. DJ patted it, his fingers light on the gleaming expanse of the case. He let his hand rest there. “I need to.”

“Need to what? Build?” Harris asked. DJ nodded, and Harris took a breath. “We can build tomorrow, Deej, but it's too late, and we're not going into the workshop when Tony's not here. That's why Jarvis wouldn't let you in, why he woke me up instead of opening the door for you. Because we need to get some sleep.”

His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool. He was so exhausted that he could barely focus, could barely string two words together. He needed sleep so badly he could almost taste it, and so could DJ, he could tell that with a single glance. DJ was pale and drawn, his motions jerky and uneven, dark circles like bruises beneath his huge eyes.

But he stared at the workshop like he couldn't bear to look away, for fear that it wouldn't be there when he looked back.

“What's wrong?” Harris asked. And it was stupid, it was a ludicrously stupid question. What was wrong? Everything. Everything was wrong. It was three am and they were sitting on the floor in a place where neither of them belonged. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Did you have another nightmare?”

DJ stared at the workshop. “Do you like them?” he asked.

“What?” Harris followed his gaze. “The bots? Sure. I mean, I've only just met them, but yes. I like them. Do you?”

“Yes,” DJ said. “I miss them. I miss-” His teeth sank into his bottom lip, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Do they miss me?”

“The bots?” Harris asked.

“All of them.”

It took a second to sink in, and then Harris got it. “Yes,” he said, his chest hurting. “Yes, your family misses you.”

DJ was silent. “How do you know?”

“Because I just met you, but if you went missing, I'd miss you, and I'd come looking for you.” Harris blinked, rubbing a thumb against his eye, knocking his glasses half off his nose. “Like I did. Just now.” He exhaled, a slight sigh. “They miss you, and they're looking for you.”

“Maybe he isn't.”

Harris looked over, and DJ hadn't moved. He was staring, his eyes unblinking, at the workshop. Not 'them,' then. 'He.' This was more specific than Harris had thought, but he shifted gears. “He is,” Harris said, when that seemed to be all DJ had to say. “But he needs our help to find you. We kind of, we stole you. It wasn't deliberate, we weren't trying to, but-” He braced an arm on his knee. “They have to start from square negative fifty. They don't know what happened. They don't know where you went, or even if you're okay. So it's up to us to help your dad find you.” He pointed at the machinery inside the workshop. “Look at how much we've gotten done already.”

DJ stared at it, but said nothing. His face was pale in the reflected lighting. 

“What you've done,” Harris said, smiling. “I'm not of any use in this, but you are, aren't you?”

“Can we build now?” DJ asked, his fingers twitching.

“We should be sleeping now, so no. DJ?” He waited until DJ looked at him. “We're going to get you home,” Harris said, trying to sound confident. “But they're looking for you. Your dad, he is looking for you right now. I promise.” 

DJ took a breath, his eyes fluttering. “He has... Dummy back now,” he said, the words almost inaudible. 

He wasn't equipped for this discussion, but Harris hadn't been prepared for much in his life. He pushed on, stubbornness taking over where intelligence failed him. “He doesn't have Dummy? A bot Dummy?” he asked. 

“No,” DJ said. He rocked forward, then back again, slow and slight, but his fingers were digging into the fabric of his pants. “He did. Now, he has me.” His face scrunched up. “Maybe, if we switched, then he got Dummy back. And is glad.” His eyes closed. “Maybe he won't want to give him up.” He tucked his head back down. “Maybe they're happier. Having Dummy, not me.”

Harris' stomach dropped, a sick, nauseating twist of pain, hitting him so hard and so fast that for an instant, he was swamped by it. He sucked in a breath that shuddered in his mouth, and it tasted like copper and iron and dirt on his tongue. He pressed a hand to his mouth, scraping it across his face. “You know that's not true,” he said. DJ didn't move. Didn't say anything. He just stared, straight ahead, his face set and miserable. 

“Okay.” Harris folded his legs, rearranging himself so he could brace his elbows on his knees. “Remember what you told me, when I asked how you knew you were lost?” DJ's eyelashes flicked, a rapid series of blinks, and Harris tried for a smile. “Yeah, you do, don't you?

“You said that you knew you were lost, you knew you weren't at home, because something bad happened and your dad didn't immediately come looking for you.” He leaned forward, a tangle of arms and legs. “You said he would've checked on you, he would have been calling for you. That when something bad happened, your dad always came looking for you. And he did it first, before anything else.”

DJ's teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I know it's hard,” Harris said, looking into the dim space of the workshop. “I know it is. I know you just want to go home and have your dad and your-” He swallowed, and his throat felt raw. “Your family, you want them to pick you up and hug you tight and make you feel safe and secure. Because they know you, they know all about you, they know your favorite toy and your favorite food and what you want when your stomach hurts and what shirt you want when you feel sad for no reason. They know how much cinnamon you like on your toast, and how much ice you like in your lemonade.” He looked over, and DJ was crying, silent and still, tears sliding down the planes of his cheeks. “They know,” Harris said, his voice wobbling, “that you don't like lemonade at all.”

DJ giggled, and the tears didn't stop, but the horrible, still, traumatized look smoothed away, leaving just a normal sort of lost sadness.

“We don't know any of that,” Harris admitted. “So it's easy to be frustrated with us. To be angry with us, because the people who know you best, who love you so much, they'd know. And we don't.”

Gently, he nudged DJ with his elbow, and DJ looked up at him, eyes and nose red, lips trembling. “I can learn,” Harris said. “Your dad is going to come for you. You know he is.” He tried for a smile. “You knew that three days ago, and nothing that's happened since then has changed any of that.”

He reached out and offered a hand, holding it out to DJ. “Right?”

DJ's fingers twitched, going tight and hard on his pants, but after a moment, he reached up, tapping it lightly against Harris'. He let it rest there, as if he was bracing himself with the contact. “What if he can't find me?” he asked, the words halting.

“Then we'll help him. That's what that is all about. We're helping them find you.” Harris took a deep breath, his head clearing with the force of it. Everything was clear, was sharp, in a way that he hadn't expected it to be. But now that it had happened, he was glad. Glad, and almost relieved. “And you can stay with me, for as long as it takes for us to get you a way home.” DJ looked up, and the smile that lifted Harris' lips felt, to his surprise, completely real. Completely honest. “As long as it takes. You can stay with me.”

DJ blinked, slow and with deliberate intent. “What if it's... Years?” he asked at last.

Harris' smile stretched, and a little of the fear, a little of the remembered trauma seemed to disappear, evaporating as if it had never existed. In its wake, there was just a strange sensation of calm. “What did I just say?” he asked, leaning in. “As long as it takes.”

DJ exhaled, a sound like a sob, and then he was throwing himself at Harris. Harris caught him, and it was an awkward sort of hug, but apparently, it was enough. “They're not going to forget you,” he said, his voice shaking. “They love you, and they're looking for you, and we're going to get you home.”

“Promise?” DJ mumbled into Harris' shoulder.

“I promise,” Harris said. His arms tightened, hugging DJ with all the strength that he had. “It's going to be okay.”

DJ nodded, but he looked up. “How do you know?” he asked, the words halting.

Harris leaned in, his voice dropping. “Because you showed me your dad, your family. You showed me. And you will never, ever convince me that the people in those videos would ever forget you, would ever leave you alone, or leave you behind.”

He smiled, ignoring the way his eyes stung. “You're lost, that's all. We all get lost, sometimes. And kids who are smart and brave and adventurous, kids like you, they get lost more than other people.”

DJ blinked at him. “Did you get lost?”

“When I was a kid? Not really.” Harris shifted to the side, and DJ curled up against his side. “I was not an adventurous kid, DJ. I was...” He grinned. “I was pretty skittish, actually. Is this your first time getting lost?” DJ nodded. “Really? You've never been lost before?”

His smile was lopsided and shaky, but it was a smile. “No.”

“Well, for your first time, you're doing an amazing job of it.”

“Dad gets lost.” 

“Yeah?” Harris asked. “Do you forget him when he's lost?” DJ shook his head. “And if someone else showed up, even someone you loved, like Steve or Clint or Natasha, would that make up for the fact that your Dad was lost? Would you be fine with that?”

DJ thought about that. “No,” he said, his voice quiet.

“No, you wouldn't. Which doesn't mean that you don't love Steve or anyone else,” Harris said. “It means that you want your dad, and no one can take his place.” He ruffled DJ's hair. “And no one can take your place. Even if it is the most adorable bot.”

He looked at the workshop. “So let's make a deal. We need to go get some sleep, and then first thing in the morning, after we eat and shower and get ready, we'll come down here and we will be the best helpers we can be, and we'll do our best to get you home.” Harris managed a smile. “But first. We sleep. Okay?”

For a long, solemn moment, DJ blinked up at him. “Okay,” he said at last, and when Harris held out a hand, DJ took it, his fingers wrapping tight around Harris'. 

Relief was staggering, and Harris fought his way to his feet. “Right. Let's go.” He glanced back, staring at the workshop as DJ scrambled up. There was something wrong, something hovering in the back of his brain, but he couldn't figure it out. Struggling against exhaustion, he tried to focus.

Behind the glass, the bots went on with their jobs, and DJ tugged on his hand, and Harris went. He'd figure it out in the morning.

*

Tony was really regretting letting these people into his workshop. 

He'd started regretting it a couple of days ago, of course, but at this point, he was really regretting it. Hank was hanging upside down from Butterfingers' support strut, and Reed was peering over his shoulder, his neck snaking around the bot and down nearly to the floor to get the right angle. Jane hadn't slept in a couple of days, and Bruce was clinging to his coffee cup like it was a lifeline, one in a long series of desperate gambits. Judging by the empties piled up by the sink, he'd been cycling through them for hours.

In comparison, Tony was starched, pressed, and ready to go.

“You look like death warmed over.”

“I should've left you in that hellhole,” Tony said, without looking up from his work. He pointed a finger in Harris' general direction. “That was a mistake on my part.”

“One of many,” Harris agreed. He picked up two empty coffee cups, piling them on the tray he had braced against his hip. “Give me that plate.”

Tony handed it over. “Busing tables now?” he asked, taking a moment to stretch. His back ached, the muscles pulling tight as he flexed. He bit back a curse.

“I like to stay busy, it's better than sitting in a corner and pretending I understand a word any of you are saying,” Harris said, calm as ever. “Besides, I have student loans to pay, I figure a few tips can't hurt.”

Tony glanced up. “Wait, you still have STUDENT LOANS? Tell me you're kidding me. Tell me-” Harris rolled his eyes, and Tony scraped a hand over his face. “How is that possible?”

“I was in default for a few months there,” Harris said. “And now I'm chipping away at it.” Tony opened his mouth, and Harris held up a hand. “Don't. Even.”

“What?” Tony asked, reaching for his coffee. It was cold, and rather sour, and he drank it down anyway, and let Harris take the empty cup from him. “You know I can-”

“Not a chance,” Harris said. “I'll take a second job, honestly, before I'll let you pay off my student loans. You already think you own me, and I do not want to encourage that.”

“Well, you make a half-decent nanny,” Tony said, and then he paused. “Half-decent might be the right way to put this, as you are supposed to have a kid and you do not have a kid, where is the kid, Harris?” The spike of panic was unreasonable and unreasoning, and he didn't have the strength to fight it, it just rolled over him like a wave.

Harris pointed. “He's with-” His eyes slid to the side. “Dr. Strange and-” He stopped, his mouth drawing up tight. “Clea. Is it just me, or does it seem like calling her by her first name is a very, very bad idea?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper.

Tony looked. Strange was bad enough, it was true, but Clea sent a shiver up Tony's spine every time he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eyes. She was tall and sleek, her features patrician and perfect, high cheekbones and full lips and a long, slim nose. There was something cool about her, about her steel gray eyes and her sharp chin, and mostly the long, icy sweep of her gleaming white hair. She seemed to glide a few inches above the floor when she moved, and Strange was always a step behind her, a warm, besotted smile on his face as he trailed along in her wake.

She was cold and hard and unearthly, except when DJ was smiling up at her. Then, she melted, smiling back with an easy warmth. The kid, it appeared, had inherited at least a little of the Stark charm.

Now, he was perched on the edge of a workbench, a glittering ball of light clutched in his hands, as Clea and Strange considered the magic that swirled around him. Every so often, he looked up, but for the most part, the ball seemed to interest him more than anything they were up to.

“Shouldn't you be over there?” Tony asked Harris. “Watching him, I mean.”

“I did not want to be the Doctor's companion, I did not want a Hogwarts letter, and being your quasi-minion is bad enough, I'm not getting magicked because I reached for her cup at the wrong moment,” Harris said. “I can watch him just fine from over here.”

“Coward,” Tony said.

“Fuck, yes.”

“It's not going to work!”

Startled, Tony turned, to find Reed and Jane facing off in the middle of the half a dozen holographic projections. Reed was taller than usual, something that he did when agitated, like his limbs ended up stretching without his express knowledge. Jane, for her part, wasn't budging, her feet spread and her hands on her hips.

“I don't think-” Bruce started, holding up a placating hand, and everyone ignored him.

“What you're doing,” Reed said, his hands braced on the workbench, “is building a drawbridge. You have to understand that. This-” He waved a hand at the schematics, his fingers stretching to slice through the hologram. “This is a massive gate, this is a gateway. And you're anchoring a bridge to that gateway, a heavy, sturdy, strong bridge.”

He reached halfway across the workshop for a tablet, making Hank duck and hop to the side to avoid getting clipped. “And the other end of it is resting on a cliff made of balsa wood. You have no anchor on the other side, just the tension from this end. You're not taking into account-”

“Like hell I'm not.” Jane leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest. “It'll hold.”

“It might,” Reed agreed. “This end is stable. This end is perfectly anchored, but you're putting a bridge over a literal void. If the other end collapses-” He spread his hands. “We won't just lose the bridge, and anyone using it. It could very well pull the gate in after it.”

Tony considered the schematics. Bruce and Hank exchanged a look. “It worked before,” Bruce pointed out. “It was stable enough for DJ to make it here, and this is far better.”

“It worked because the first device was making pinprick holes in the fabric of time and space. If something made it through, then it made it through. There might have been hundreds, even thousands, of incursions, and the results were sporadic, unplanned, unpredictable.”

Reed paused. “The fact that he made it through, alive and unharmed, was a matter of pure luck. The original device was a shotgun full of tiny pellets. And this?” He waved his hand at the machine. “This is a high powered sniper rifle, and we're trying to aim it like it's still a shotgun.”

“The principle is the same,” Jane argued, her expression mulish. “And the bridge will be stable enough to get him back, you've looked at the numbers yourself, you know-”

“The bridge is stable,” Reed said, his entire body flexing with the force of the words. “The supports are not.”

“Okay, that's enough,” Tony said, holding up his hands, drawing everyone's attention. “We don't know-”

“Build it.”

Almost as one, everyone turned. DJ stared back at them, his big eyes blinking slowly and carefully. “Build the other support,” he said, and smiled. “Then, no problem. Right?”

There was a beat of silence as everyone considered that. “Good idea. But we can't,” Tony told him. “We don't have access to the-”

“You can't,” DJ interrupted him. “Dad can.” He turned his attention back to Clea. “Tell him what you're doing. He can fix the other side.” He tucked his knees up against his chest, balancing the glittering, glowing ball between them. It lit the smile that curled his lips. “He's good at that.”

There was silence. “That... Could work,” Reed said, shrinking back to size like a balloon deflating.

“That- Would make things easier,” Jane said, turning on her heel. “Bruce, what do the numbers look like if we can-”

“Reduce the load by half, and shift the center of the structure to-” Bruce mumbled, his hands already moving on his laptop keyboard. “But then we'd have to-”

“Assume the creation of power to be structured by multiple points,” Hank said, leaning over his shoulder. “Can we see what would, yes, that-”

“How many stress points are we assuming?” Reed asked, his head beating the rest of his body back to his workstation. “Jarvis, can we-”

“Running the simulations now,” Jarvis said.

Tony leaned against the workbench next to DJ. “So, what?” he asked, drawing DJ's attention. “You're going to write up our plans, roll them around an arrow, and shoot them back home?”

DJ considered that, the ball rolling between his fingers. “USB drive is easier,” he said, and Tony choked on a laugh.

“You're a sensible kid,” he said. Keeping a wary eye on Clea, he asked, “You think he'll do it? Trust a random USB drive that drops out of nowhere into his lap?”

“Yes.” DJ stopped, frowned. “If he knew it was me.” He looked up at Tony. “I can help.”

“You can make sure he knows it's from you?”

“Not Dad,” DJ said. “But Jarvis. Jarvis will know.” He smiled. “Jarvis always knows when it's me.”

Tony took a breath. “Okay,” he said. “Jay, you'll give him access to the plans before we get this mess going?”

“They might not find it,” Strange said. 

“I thought you could find where we're going here,” Tony said. “That's kind of the center of this plan, Strange, so if you can't-”

“I can get it there, make no mistake, Tony,” Strange said. “But even if we drop it in their lap, there's no way to be certain that there will be anyone waiting to receive it.”

Clea laughed. “Let me make certain I understand,” she said, her hands still tracing arcane symbols in the air. DJ's eyes were locked on the flickers of movement, and sparks of light, and she smiled down at him. “You are saying that this little one, who is practically cocooned, he carries so much magic, has gone missing. That he has disappeared. And that the only thing that ties him to his home is a thin thread of that magic?”

She looked over, even as one long index finger tapped DJ on the nose, producing a spark of glittering silver light. “Do I have the right of it?” she asked, one eyebrow arching.

“More or less, my love,” Strange said. “Why-”

“You are cast adrift in a tiny life boat on a stormy sea,” Clea said to DJ. She leaned in, as if imparting a secret. “And he thinks the one who set your anchor chain isn't clinging to it with both hands.”

Strange's eyes narrowed. “You think-”

“I do not think, love, I know.” She glanced up at him, a chiding look on her face. “To the world about you, you would insist that it would hold. But in private?” She smiled. “The man who laid these spells would be working, even now, to make certain that it is the truth.” She sucked in a breath, and when she exhaled, her hair swirled around her head like it had been caught in a sudden wind.

“He is holding on for dear life, for this particular dear life,” Clea said, as DJ made a grab for one of the sparks that hung in the air in front of him. His fingers closed on it, and his eyes went wide, his hair poofing with a burst of static electricity. Clea laughed, tapping a finger against his nose. “And just like a spider on its web, any slight vibration will get his attention.”

Strange rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide a smile. “I think I should know myself better than you do.”

“That would be true, if you were not in a great deal of denial about your better points,” Clea said. She looked at Tony, and her eyes seemed to glow, empty and fathomless and lit from within. “Send your plans. If our aim is true, then there will be one waiting to catch it.”

“Hey, Cy Young's got nothing on us,” Tony said, and then held up a hand. “He was a pitcher.” Clea stared at him, her brow furrowed. “A guy who throws balls. And is good at aiming them where he needs them to go, it's kind of a thing, I don't-”

“Yes, but I would've gone with Walter Johnson or Satchel Paige,” Clea said. “I realize that Young still holds the record for career wins, but I don't think he had the control.” Tony stared at her, and she smiled. “I did see him pitch for the Cleveland Spiders against the Baltimore Orioles for the Temple Cup, that was a lovely game, but still.” She gave Tony a chiding look. “I'd even take Babe Ruth during his pitching days over Young.” 

“Right,” Tony said, because he wasn't sure he was capable of any other response.

Clea straightened up. “Now, to give our pitcher the best chance we can, I need to closer look at the mess some Sorcerer Supreme has made of you, and for that, I need a slightly-” She glanced around the workshop. “Quieter locale.” She held out her hand to DJ. “Shall we, little one?”

DJ took her hand, grinning as helped him down to the floor. “Harris?” he asked. “You, too?”

“Is it, you know, okay?” Harris asked Clea, who inclined her head in a nod. “Let me dump the dishes,” he said, hefting the tray on his hip. “Then we can go upstairs.”

“File?” DJ asked Tony.

“I promise, we'll get it up to you and you can muck around with it.” This seemed to satisfy DJ, who nodded and leaned against Clea's side.

“Are you coming?” she asked Strange.

“I'll be up in a moment, my love,” he said with a smile, and she nodded, heading to the door, DJ's hand clasped in hers, the ball clutched to his chest with the other.

Tony looked at Strange. Strange arched his eyebrows with a slight shrug. “What the fuck is the Temple Cup?” Tony asked. “What- I don't even-”

“Precursor to the World Series,” Strange said. “She has season tickets for the Washington Senators.”

Tony considered that. “The Washington Senators haven't been a team since the seventies,” Tony said.

“Well, I don't know precisely what season the tickets are for,” Strange said, “but it's presumably for one when they were a team.” His eyebrows arched. “I assume. She took me once, I didn't pay much attention. I just paid for the hot dogs.”

“Right.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Your girlfriend's terrifying.”

“I know, isn't it lovely?” Strange said, cheerfully. “Provided she can verify the traces I've been following, we'll be able to send the files today.”

Tony nodded. “And then we just have to hope she's right.” He pushed himself up. “Someone has to be looking for this kid.”

He had to believe that.

*

“Fixing?”

"How do you keep getting in here?" Tony asked, not really surprised anymore.

DJ considered that. "Sneaky," he said at last.

"Sneaky you might be, but I suspect it has more to do with your ability to shamelessly manipulate my AI doorman," Tony said, casting an eye up towards the ceiling. "Jay. Seriously. It's two am.”

“It's three am,” Jarvis corrected him.

“Well, that's even more of a reason why he should not be in the workshop.”

"I was instructed to make certain that he could not access any areas where he might be in danger," Jarvis said, his tone arch. "You are currently present, thus, the area I allowed him to access poses no danger to him."

“You're a softy that likes the kid,” Tony translated. “And hates me.” He pointed at the nearest stool. “Pull up a seat, you can hand me tools.”

DJ boosted himself onto the stool with a hop and a few kicks, settling himself down within easy reach of the toolbox. “Finished?”

Tony looked up. “What, the new and improved super sized DJ transport? Yep. We're done, or as done as we're going to get.” He tightened the bolt with a few twists of his wrist. “Sent everyone home before they started rewiring my lab out of boredom and frustration. I'm fine with Hank doing a bit of electrical engineering, and Jane would get distracted if I tossed some numbers in her general direction, but Reed has a rotating platform elevator that lifts the central space of his lab up to the roof and I do not want him getting ideas.”

He gave the socket wrench one last yank, snugging the bolt against the frame. “They'll be back in the morning to putter and braid wires into friendship bracelets and all sorts of shit-” He stopped. “I'm probably not supposed to swear in front of you, am I?” he asked, holding the socket wrench up to DJ. “That's probably bad.”

“Dad does,” DJ said, taking it and laying it carefully into its slot. Without being prompted, he held a screwdriver out to Tony. 

“Yeah, but babysitters are held to higher standards,” Tony said. He leaned back, considering the charging station with a critical eye. Most of the major parts were back in place, good enough, as his father had always said, for government work. He'd have time to do the cosmetic stuff later. When he wasn't quite so tired.

He wasn't entirely certain when that would be. But it had to happen eventually.

"You're fixing it?"

"I," Tony agreed, "am fixing it." He slapped a hand against the metal frame of the charging station. "This one is Dummy's, and it got a little messed up when you came tumbling into the workshop. Since he's not here to be whiny and, you know, need it, I can make it better, at the same time. Two for one. Fixing, and upgrading it." He snagged a rag from the bench. "He'll charge faster now."

He scrubbed at his hands, making a face at the grease that saturated his fingerprints. "He doesn't stay still," he explained to DJ. The kid looked up at him, big dark eyes curious. Without thinking, Tony reached out and brushed a greasy fingertip against DJ's nose, leaving a smudge. DJ giggled, ducking his head. Tony leaned back. "He doesn't ever get a full charge. He's too impatient. Wants to be off and doing something." He slapped the flat of his hand against the station. "This'll fix it."

"Why fix it? And not him?" DJ asked.

"No reason to fix him. There's nothing wrong with him," Tony said. He stopped. "Okay, there's a lot of things wrong with Dummy. But nothing that needs fixing. Or maybe just nothing I can actually fix." He wiped his hands on a rag. “He is what he is.” His shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. “That's good enough.”

"You love him."

Tony looked up. "Nope," he said, his voice laconic. "He's a pain in the ass. He's barely any help. He breaks more than he fixes. He's so bad at cleaning I had to double the number of Roombas down here just to make up for his inadequacies. He staples things that should not be stapled, not at all. He still can't fit Lego bricks together properly, they're always off by a row, I don't know how he manages it. He experiments on my smoothies and then hovers sadly until I drink them even if they are inedible."

DJ smiled at him. "You love him."

Tony made a face. "Tiny bit," he said. 

"Not much," DJ said.

"Not much at all," Tony agreed. "But a little bit." He stared at the charging station. "He's more trouble than he's worth."

“It was him.”

“What was him?” Tony asked, reaching a hand up. DJ handed him the wrench he needed, and Tony leaned in to make a slight adjustment. Might as well.

"He activated it."

Tony stilled, his fingers tightening on the wrench. Then, he glanced up, meeting DJ's eyes. DJ smiled, his mouth pulling up at the corners. "He activated-” He pointed. “This. Didn't he?"

Tony opened his mouth, and closed it. "Probably, yeah." He set the wrench down. 

"You didn't tell."

"What's to tell?" Tony asked, waving a hand. "Won't change anything. He didn't mean any harm. I'm sure your dad would cheerfully take a blowtorch to him for it, but I'm used to it."

"No," DJ said. "Ours is..." He paused, an unreadable expression crossing his face. "Troublesome, too."

"Yeah? Well, good to know your old man isn't beating me at everything," Tony said. He slammed the panel shut and levered himself to his feet. His fingers trailed across the lines of the charging station, checking for weak spots and any screws he might've forgotten to tighten. “He didn't mean any harm. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

Tony took a seat next to him, trying again to get his fingers clean. "How did you know-"

"Because I would've, too," DJ said, rocking forward and back. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, a puckish smile on his lips. His head tipped to the side, his face curious. “How did you?”

“How did I know?” Tony took a deep breath. “Because I managed to pry a little bit of data out of You and Butterfingers. Most of the video, and almost all of their memory data, was damaged, or just deleted. Same pulse that knocked Jarvis offline got them, too.”

He paused. “But I managed to salvage a little from before the event itself, and they both placed Dummy at the workbench, tidying and generally getting into things that he shouldn't have been getting into.” Giving up on his hands, he tossed the rag down, and reached for a half-assembled circuit board. “And after that, until Jarvis is back online, I'm not sure any of their data can be trusted.”

Tony reached for a tester. “They insist that Dummy was still here, long after the incursions stopped. Not sure why, maybe the data doubled up, or-” He shook his head. “They're not really supposed to function without Jarvis, and in that circumstance; I shouldn't expect so much of them.”

DJ shifted in his seat, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. His bare toes curled against the top of the stool, and he rested his chin on his knees. “Why fix it now?” he asked.

The abrupt change of topic caught Tony off guard, and it took him a second to shift gears. “Can't sleep,” he said. “SHIELD called Steve in, he'll be back in a few hours, or tomorrow morning early. But right now...” He gave DJ a lopsided smile. “Couldn't sleep.” He rotated the circuit board between his hands, setting it back down on the bench in a better position. “Why are you down here helping me?” He looked up. “Did you have another nightmare?”

DJ shook his head. “No.”

Tony nodded, bending over his work. “Would you tell me if you did?”

There was a long silence. “Don't know.”

He'd expected something like that, but it still caused a twist of pain, low in his stomach, one that he didn't want to analyze too closely. But it had been there for a while, an ache like an injury that refused to heal. "Why did you ask for Steve?" The words slipped out, it was too late and he was too tired and DJ was staring at him with eyes just like his. And he hated all of it.

DJ's head tipped to the side, his mouth turning down. "Bad dreams. Steve helps.”

Tony nodded. “But not your dad?”

DJ's eyes dipped down, his brows drawing up tight. "Don't have the words," he said, soft and halting. For a second, his mouth worked, and then he said, "If I'm upset, it upsets you." He blinked up at Tony. "Him. Dad." His fingers caught on the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up over his breastbone. It twisted in his hand, and he exhaled. "He doesn't-" His face scrunched up. "He hates it."

Tony's dropped his gaze to his hands, putting his attention back to where it should be. "Yeah," he said. His voice sounded tense, even to his own ears, so he tried again. "I bet he does."

"Don't you?"

Tony looked up, catching the curious look on DJ's face before he returned to his work. "Hate it when people bother me? Yeah, I guess."

"Hate it when you can't fix things."

Tony froze, his fingers stilling on the circuit board. DJ nudged the solder closer to him, and he picked it up. "I'm broken," DJ said, his voice quiet. 

The spike of rage was so overwhelming that for a second, Tony couldn't breathe. "Don't know," he managed, trying for humor, trying for normalcy. "You seem pretty functional to me."

DJ grinned, folding his arms on the edge of the bench, and plopping his chin on them. "Like being broken," he said. "I..." His eyes narrowed. "See things. Things you don't." He reached out, one tiny finger tapping the circuit board. "Like that."

Tony studied the area. "Like what?"

DJ's grin stretched. "Can't explain it. Don't have the words, for how I see." He straightened up. "Understand?"

Tony considered him. "Yes," he said at last. "I think I do." He pushed it across the bench. "Can you improve it?"

Humming under his breath, DJ leaned in. "Yes," he said at last. He straightened up and gave Tony a sunny smile. "But not enough to matter."

"Oh, I see how it is," Tony said, as DJ handed it back. “You want bragging rights without having to do any work. Right.” But he was smiling as he set it back on the board. “That being the case, perhaps it's time you went back to bed, short stuff.”

“Not tired,” DJ said, but his eyes were at half mast, and he pillowed his head on his folded arms, his hair flopping over his forehead. “Like it here.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said. “Still-”

“With you,” DJ said.

Tony's eyes closed, squeezing tight for a second. “Even so,” he said, and his voice was gentler than he'd ever heard it. “Despite that. You need sleep. Someplace that isn't here.” He looked up. “Jarvis, can you-”

“I have already summoned Mr. McIntyre, he should be here momentarily,” Jarvis said.

DJ tried to glare, but it was an adorable failure. “Traitor,” he said.

“Exactly right,” Jarvis said, unbothered by that. Probably a little bit proud.

“Tell him to be faster than that,” Tony said.

“I'm here, shut up. Can we not do this every night?” Harris asked from the doorway. “Really? Can we not?”

“Sorry,” DJ said, not lifting his chin from his folded arms.

“Oh, you are not.” Harris crossed over to the workbench, picking his way carefully across the floor. His feet were bare beneath the cuffs of his pajama pants, and his t-shirt was a rumpled, wrinkled mess. But he was smiling as he ruffled DJ's hair with an easy hand. “Let's go. It's late. You should be asleep.”

“He's right,” Tony said, reaching for his coffee cup. It was empty, and he considered it with a wholly illogical feeling of betrayal.

“Go to bed, Tony,” Harris said.

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Thanks,” Harris said, and Tony looked up. DJ was staring at him with those big dark eyes. 

“I mean,” Tony said, drawing out the word, “that sleep is very important, and we should all go get some. You guys first, I'll be right behind you.”

“Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiies,” DJ said as Harris lifted him off of his stool. Once he was placed on the floor, he leaned against Harris' legs, refusing to stand up straight.

“Wow, rude,” Tony said to him, struggling against a smile.

“Kid's got your number. Come on, Deej, your Roomba is slamming itself against the door back upstairs. Its battery is going to die if we don't go back upstairs,” Harris said.

DJ groaned, but he straightened up. Plodding for the door, he stopped to pet Butterfingers. “Night,” he said, and the bot nudged him gently towards the door. “Going, I'm going.”

“You're not taking any of the bots home with you when you go, including my Roombas,” Tony reminded him. “So get over that thought, right now.”

“He has a lot of them,” Harris said, ambling behind DJ. He rubbed Butterfingers' support strut as he passed. “Don't think he'd miss one or two.”

“I know them all by name!” Tony yelled after them. “Get out! I have bots to count!”

Almost to the door, Harris stopped. “That's what I was thinking,” he said, as if to himself. And then, to DJ, he added, “You said you guys didn't have a Dummy anymore, right?” DJ nodded, a quick dip of his chin. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, pulling it down with both hands. Harris looked back at the workshop. “Then why were there three bots in your bedtime powerpoint?”

DJ considered him, and then turned to the door, pushing it open with both hands. “Tired,” he said.

“Yeah, me, too,” Harris said, and before the door could shut, he added, “Whose fault is that, though?” They both disappeared up the hallway, leaving Tony staring after them, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Sir?” Jarvis said, and Tony jolted.

“What?” he asked. “I'm kind of, I'm busy here, Jay, what is your problem now?”

“I am reading an energy pulse identical to the one that signaled the first incursions,” Jarvis said. And before Tony could ask, he brought up the holographic displays, filling the air around Tony with data.

Tony stared at it, his eyes darting in all directions. “I think,” he said at last, “they got our message.”

*

“What're the odds?”

Tony's fingertip thumped against the side of the coffee cup. “If we were dealing with odds, I wouldn't be doing this,” he said. “It's a certainty.”

Steve nodded, focusing for a moment on his hard boiled egg. “Nothing's certain,” he pointed out, smacking the bowl of his spoon against the shell. “You know that.”

One of Tony's shoulders rose and fell in a half-shrug. “I also know we can get within a decimal point of it,” he said, his eyebrows arching. “Jarvis is compiling the data now, the pulses are coming in regular bursts now. They're out there, and they're going to make this work, with or without us.”

Steve nodded, peeling away bits of egg shell with his thumbnail. He could focus on that for a few seconds, and get his thoughts together. “How'd they manage it? So fast, I mean?”

Tony sipped his coffee, his bare feet scraping against the kitchen floor as he tipped his chair back. “I was wondering that, too,” he said. “Only thing I can think of is that they've got Dummy, and he managed to retain some information from before the whole mess started. Depending on what they were able to get from his memory banks, they might've had a head start on us, even.”

He gave Steve a slight smile. “Our only advantage was Reed's knowledge of it.”

“And the magic DJ's carrying,” Steve said. He dug into his egg, exhaustion chewing on the back of his mind. It had been a long night, and it looked like it was going to be an even longer day. “You're sure?”

“As sure as I've been about anything,” Tony said, rubbing a hand over his unshaven jaw. He looked almost as exhausted as Steve felt, his hair a tousled mess and dark circles under his eyes. There was an untouched plate of toast in front of him, but he was on his second cup of coffee already. Steve wished he'd go to bed and get some rest, but he knew better than to suggest it.

It was going to be a long day. 

Steve nudged the plate of toast towards him. “I slaved over a cranky toaster for your breakfast,” he said, with a faint smile. “Least you could do is eat it.”

“I might have an egg,” Tony said, his tone of voice making it clear that he was not going to have an egg, but he was hoping Steve might fall for it. Steve, unconvinced, held out a spoonful of egg. Tony made a face, but opened his mouth, and, grinning, Steve tucked the spoon between his lips.

Tony's nose wrinkled as he chewed and swallowed. “Know what?” he said. “That's enough egg for today.”

Steve chuckled. “Eat your toast.” He went back to his egg. “I'm going to miss him,” he admitted. Tony made a non-committal noise, but his fingers tapped against the side of his cup, quick and sharp. “Won't you?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “You wanted kids, didn't you?” he asked, and Steve looked up. Tony's eyebrows arched. “I didn't. But you did.” He looked towards the window. “Didn't you?”

Steve took a bite of his egg, and thought about that. Not for long. He looked up, and the kitchen was full of early morning light, the comforting scents of coffee and warm raspberry jam hanging in the air. There was a newspaper by his elbow, his newspaper. Tony did his reading on a tablet, or his phone, but despite his teasing, he knew Steve preferred the feeling, the smell of newsprint, and maintained the subscription. 

The morning was still and quiet, and there was sunlight glinting on Tony's dark hair, in Tony's dark eyes. Steve smiled at him, and put his spoon down.

“I did,” he said at last. “A long time ago.”

Tony gave him a look. “Everything about you was a long time ago,” he said, with a practiced smile, and Steve stole a piece of toast off of his plate. “Hey!” He made a grab for it, and Steve held it easily out of reach. Tony arched an eyebrow. “Petty theft is below you, Cap.”

Steve pulled a face. “It's really not,” he said, and when Tony glared at him, he took a big bite. “Did I want kids? Sure. When I was growing up, everyone, well, everyone wanted kids.”

“I didn't,” Tony said, the words blunt.

“You were born after me,” Steve said, pointing the toast in Tony's direction. “Things were different when you were a kid.” He leaned back in his seat. “It was just expected, in the neighborhood. You'd grow up, you'd get married, you'd move into an apartment within the neighborhood, and you'd have a bunch of kids, and someday they'd marry someone from the neighborhood and repeat the cycle.” He shrugged. “It's what people did, Tony.”

“You lived in a Catholic neighborhood,” Tony said, with a faint smile, making Steve laugh.

“Yeah, I did. And I lived in an immigrant neighborhood. Immigrants, they're cut off, Tony. They leave their whole world behind, when they make the choice to come to a new place, to a new country. Your family, your past, your history, your heritage. My parents left everything behind. On the off chance that they'd be able to make a better life here than they'd had in Ireland. Not just for themselves. For me, too.”

He stared down at his toast. “I grew up with my mum, we had each other, and that's it.” He glanced up at Tony. “I had Bucky, but Bucky was going to find a girl and move on with his life, that's just the way it was. I could see that, around the time when my mum died.”

He paused, and he could hear Tony's breathing, as familiar now as his own, and in the background, the hiss of the coffee maker and the whirr of the refrigerator. A dozen, a hundred tiny sounds, that he usually ignored, and now he closed his eyes and just listened.

“The family we'd have,” he said, his voice quiet, “is the one we made. When I was a kid, that meant, growing up, meeting a nice girl, and having children.” He smiled, just a little, a warm, real smile, and he looked up at Tony. “I wanted a family, and that's how I thought I'd have one. Instead, I got-” He waved a hand at the kitchen. “This. And you. And that's all the family I need.”

Tony arched an eyebrow, his mouth kicking up on one side. “Wait. Does that make the rest of the team our children?”

Steve shrugged, and stole another piece of toast, just because he could. “It seems like a pretty good trade off,” he mused. “I mean, I'm still sitting up nights worrying what they're doing and who they're with.”

“They cost an arm and a leg to keep clothed and fed,” Tony agreed, sipping his coffee. “And I'm torn between wanting to kick them to the curb and telling them to get their own place, and knowing that they'd make horrible choices if they did, I mean, I saw the choices they made before the team, and they're pretty much uniformly horrible, so, there's precedent.”

“Including joining the team?” Steve asked, smiling at him.

“That's pretty much the worst choice they could've made.” Tony drained the rest of his coffee and reached for Steve's cup. Steve let him take it. It only seemed fair. “Does that make me mom or dad?”

“It makes you the man I fell in love with,” Steve said, just to get a rise out of Tony. Because he always did. The artist in him loved it, the way that Tony's face softened, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the way he always glanced away, as if, for a moment, he couldn't bear eye contact. 

Steve stole his coffee back while Tony was distracted. “Hey,” he said, hiding his smile behind the cup, “I got to skip potty training, that's a win, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Still patching boo-boos, though,” Tony said, wry about it.

“Oh, did I show you?” Steve waved his coffee cup through the air. “I was complaining about that, and Dr. Garza gave me a boo-boo bunny.”

Tony stopped. Slowly, his head rotated in Steve's direction. Steve grinned at him, unrepentant. “What,” Tony said, his voice stern, “Is a-” He paused, his mouth working in a manner that implied he'd tasted something very unpleasant or perhaps poisonous. “A boo-boo bunny?”

Steve sipped his coffee. “It's a washcloth sown into a circle, with the excess fabric forming a little head and bunny ears. You put an ice cube in the center, so when it melts, you get a cool, wet washcloth to put on your boo-boo.”

Tony nodded. “I think you're using 'you' incorrectly here,” he said.

Steve shrugged. “Okay,” he said, easily enough. “It's so when you end up with a cut or a scrape, I can put an ice cube into the boo-boo bunny and-”

“I will light it on fire,” Tony said.

“That'll be hard. It's wet, it's kind of one of its defining-”

Tony leaned forward. “I have lasers.”

“That seems uncalled for,” Steve said, grinning at him. “She made it just for you. It's got your name on it and everything.”

“Right.” Tony stood up. “I will find this thing and I will destroy it.” He stomped around the table. Laughing, Steve threw out an arm, wrapping it around Tony's waist and dragging him into his lap. Tony glared at him, even as he leaned his forehead against Steve's. “I will kill it with fire.”

Steve grinned at him. “I'll just get another one,” he said, looping his arms around Tony's waist. “Maybe a couple. You and Clint can be boo-boo bunny buddies.”

“Hate you,” Tony said, and laughing, Steve kissed him. Tony nipped at his lower lip, but kissed him back, warm and sweet. “Still lighting it on fire.”

“I have no doubt,” Steve said.

“Begging your pardon,” Jarvis said, pulling them both out of the kiss. “Mr. McIntyre and DJ are approaching.”

“In other words, keep our pants on?” Tony asked, his head tipped back. 

“Perhaps that would be for the best, sir.”

Steve's arms tightened, hugging him close for a moment, and then relaxing. “Perhaps,” he agreed, as Tony slipped off of his lap. He sighed, missing the heat of Tony's body already. Still, he reached for his newspaper. “Family friendly.”

“I have been called some ugly things in my life,” Tony said, his nose in the air, “but that might be the worst, Rogers.”

Steve rustled his newspaper. “Don't worry, Tony, you'll always be my boo-boo bunny.”

“I know where you sleep,” Tony said, as Harris poked his head into the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Harris said, his eyes darting from one to the other, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses. “I was hoping to have some toast, we didn't have any bread, and I'm up. So.” He paused. “Jarvis said I might be able to get some here?”

Tony waved him in. “Come on in,” he said. “Why are you awake? I don't even know why I'm awake.”

“I'm always awake at this time of the morning,” Steve commented, scanning articles in the sports section. “It's the best time of the morning.”

“Right, that's why I'm awake, it's your fault,” Tony said.

“Better than me,” Harris said. “I'm awake because of this one.” He gestured at DJ, who was now peering at them from around Harris' back.

“Morning, squirt,” Tony said.

“Boo-boo bunny?” DJ asked him.

Steve choked on a mouthful of coffee, very nearly spitting it across the table. Tony let his head fall into his hands. “Of course you heard that,” he said. “Don't bring that home, kid, I'm sure your dad would thank you for it.”

“I'll-” Steve coughed, covering his mouth with one hand. Tony, giving him a gimlet stare, patted him lightly between the shoulder blades. “I'll explain after breakfast,” he managed.

“No, you won't,” Tony told him.

“I can show him, if you'd prefer that.”

“No.”

Steve gave Harris and DJ an innocent smile. Harris was still hovering in the doorway, looking extremely uncertain about the situation. “You want toast?” he asked, with a smile. “I ate Tony's, so I should make some, too.” 

DJ wiggled out from behind Harris, bouncing across the kitchen. “I can!” he said, hopping up to peer at the toaster. Calcifer, for his part, peered back.

Steve stood. “The toaster's kind of temperamental,” he said.

“The toaster's nuts,” Tony grumbled, and stared with glum displeasure at Steve's empty coffee cup. “The coffee maker can be trusted, though, can you-”

“In a second,” Steve said, grabbing some slices of bread. “I should-” DJ held out both of his hands. “Really, the toaster's a little-”

DJ's fingers wiggled. “I can,” he repeated.

“Okay,” Steve said, handing it over. “But if he gives you any trouble-”

“He won't!” DJ took the bread and jumped up, bracing his forearms on the counter and a foot on a drawer pull. He dropped the bread into the slots with very precise care, and then leaned in. “Hello, toaster,” he said. And then, in politest, sternest tones, he added, “Toast, please.”

There was a beat of silence, then a faint rattle. DJ nodded. “Yes.” And then the bread dropped into Calcifer's slots, the heating elements coming up with a whir.

Steve stared down at him. “How the heck did you-” DJ grinned up at him. “How do you feel about making me a bagel, buddy?”

“I”ll take one,” Harris said, slumping into a chair.

“Have two,” Tony said. “It's going to be a busy day.” Harris looked up, and Steve saw him tense. “And we're going to need your help, Harris.”

*

“Guess what time it is.”

“Nooooooooooooooooooo.” DJ paused, just long enough to suck in a breath, and then continued. “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

Harris covered his smile with one hand, pretending to rub his chin. “Yes!” he said, as DJ wobbled past him, balanced precariously on top of his pet Roomba. The Roomba didn't seem to notice his weight, going about its vacuuming with DJ as a passenger. It rotated and DJ seemed to do a strange sort of pirouette. 

DJ swayed, rocking back and forth before righting himself. He blinked at Harris, his eyes unfocused, and Harris smiled at him. “Nap time,” Harris said.

“No,” DJ said. The Roomba rotated again DJ's arms windmilled. “Too old.”

“Yeah, well, I'm too old to have a day like this with like three hours of sleep, and yet, here we both are.” Harris watched, amused, as DJ did his best to stifle a yawn. “Because we were up in the middle of the night and then you got me up at five am and we crashed breakfast and then we crashed roller coasters and then we crashed the workshop and now-” He shut his laptop. “It's time to just plain crash!”

DJ glared at him. “No.”

“Yes!” Harris let his head fall back against the couch. “I need a nap, Deej. How about I pull up one of Darcy's Roller Coaster scenarios on your tablet and you lie down on the bed for an hour or so?” He sucked in a long, slow breath, letting the air hiss between his teeth. His hand twitched against his leg, and he stilled it. “Please?”

DJ seemed to consider that, his mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed. “No,” he said, and then the Roomba took a hard right hand turn and he went down with a thump. There was a beat of silence, during which Harris might've had a small heart attack, and then DJ said. “I'm okay!”

“Glad to hear it,” Harris said, tossing his computer onto the couch and peered over the arm. DJ was sprawled out, spread-eagled on the floor. Harris folded his arms on the arm and rested his head on them. “Wanna get off the floor?”

“No,” DJ said, petulant. Then he ruined it by yawning.

“Floor's as good a place as any for a nap,” Harris agreed. It was starting to look pretty good to him, too. Of course, he was already on the couch. The couch was nice. He liked the couch. He didn't even want to think about getting up. He closed his eyes, just for a second.

“Kid's on the floor.”

Harris' eyes snapped open. “I wasn't asleep.”

Darcy grinned down at him. “You were snoring.”

“I do that when I'm awake,” Harris explained. He forced himself upright, his hands fumbling at the couch cushions. “Is he okay?”

“Preeeeeeetty sure he's fine,” Darcy said, grinning down at the floor, her hands on her hips. “He's drooling so much that the carpet's probably going to need to be cleaned, and he's hugging the Roomba, but mostly, looks like he's fine.” 

“Good. That's-” Harris rubbed his hands over his face. “That's good.” 

“I can kick him, if you want me to, see if that wakes him up.”

He grinned. “No, Darcy.”

“Really, won't be a problem, he's right there.”

“Thank you, but not necessary.”

Darcy propped a hip on the arm of the couch, ruffling his hair with one hand. “Hey,” she said, her voice quiet. “They sent me up to get the two of you. It's time.”

Harris stilled. “It's time?”

Darcy grinned. “Well, it's close enough that they wanted you to get him down there. They're apparently getting steady signals from the other side, and don't want to miss the window.”

“Yeah, I bet they don't.” Harris pushed himself up right, groaning as he did. “Ugh. Couch sleeping is not good for me.”

“That's probably less the couch and more the convoluted position you managed to twist yourself into,” Darcy said. “Is there coffee in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, I think there's still some in the pot,” Harris told her. “I'm not making any promises as to it's taste or temperature, but it's there.”

“I've had worse,” Darcy said, with a wave of her hand. “Trust me. Want a cup?”

“Yes, please.” Harris stared down at DJ, who was making adorable little snoring noises, his face pressed against the side of the Roomba, and his mouth hanging open. He leaned over. “Hey, buddy,” he said, giving DJ's shoulder a light shake. “Nap time's over.”

DJ pried one eye open, peering at him. “No.”

“Haven't we already had this conversation?” Harris asked him, and DJ rolled over with a groan. Harris bit back a smile. “Up, up. We're being summoned to the workshop.”

DJ sat up, bracing his weight on his hands. “Home?” he asked, with a yawn.

“Just about time for you to go home,” Harris agreed. “Want something to drink? Something to eat?”

“Bathroom,” DJ said, rolling to his feet. He wobbled one way, and then the other, and almost missed the door to the bedroom. It took him two tries, but he managed to find it, heading towards the bathroom, likely with his eyes still closed.

“I'm seeing a certain Stark familiarity here,” Darcy said, walking across the room with a coffee cup in each hand. She offered on to Harris. “It was pretty cold, so I tossed it in the microwave for a few seconds.” She took a sip and made a face. “Not long enough, but I tried.”

“I appreciate any attempt.” His stomach wasn't exactly steady, but he swallowed a gulp of it anyway. 

Darcy sat down next to him. “How's he doing?” she asked, her voice soft.

“He seems okay,” Harris said. He took another sip of coffee. “I think he's ready to go home. He misses his family.” He watched as Darcy drank. “He's been handling this better than we have any right to expect.”

“He seems fine,” Darcy said.

Harris' nose wrinkled. “Sometimes,” he said, with a faint smile, “people act fine because there's no other choice. Or because they have to believe it. If they don't, they'll lose it. So they say they're fine, even if they're not, because what other choice is there?” He stopped, long enough to take a sip. “He's okay. But he needs to go home.”

Darcy was watching him, with an expression he couldn't read. “Looks like we're on target for that,” she said. “Jane says they've just got to pick which of our local neighborhood superheroes is taking him back.”

Harris took a deep breath, and ignored the way his chest ached. "Yeah, about that."

Darcy looked up. "About what?" she asked.

Harris leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "It's me."

Her smile faded. "What do you mean, it's you? What's you?" But understanding was dawning on her face, her lips parting as she took a deep breath of her own. "You're kidding me."

Harris tried for a smile, and his face hurt from the effort. "Sorry."

"Yeah, you should be." She sat back, her mouth a thin line, her brows drawn up tight. "You. You're the one who's escorting him back to his home-" She waved a hand through the air. “His home dimension.”

He gave her a thin smile and a thumbs up. "Yep."

Darcy sank down onto a chair. “This thing is a dimensional portal,” she said, her voice quiet. “I don't understand everything, but I know that much. It's literally a bridge between two, two-” She stopped, sucking in a slow breath. It vibrated in the air. “Between two dimensions.”

“That's what I got out of this, too.” Harris took a breath. “Which is a new one for me.”

“It's a new one for everyone!”

Harris shook his head. “Not DJ,” he said, trying to keep his voice quiet, calm. “He's made the trip once, and he was alone.” He looked up, tried to smile. “He's not going to be alone this time. He has to go back, Darcy, but he doesn't have to go alone.”

“No, and you're right, he shouldn't, but why does it have to be you?” She jerked back to her feet. “You belong here. Why are you-

"Because he doesn't know me." She stared at him, and he tried again. "He doesn't know me, Darcy. We don't know what's happening here, but we're pretty sure that it's a bad idea to meet another version of yourself. It's not-" He scratched idly at his wrist, his fingers digging into the skin, leaving red streaks in their wake. "Look, smart people think that's a bad idea."

Darcy gave him a look. "What smart people?”

Harris shrugged. “Doctor Who thinks that's a bad idea,” he said, trying for humor. Judging by the look on her face, he wasn't particularly successful.

“Doctor Who? That's what we're going with??

"Yeah, back when it was being written well," Harris said. "But pretty much, all the smart people down in Tony's workshop agree with the Ninth Doctor. It's less risky. For me to take him back. Anyone else, there's a slim chance that in the middle of that-" Swallowing took effort, but he did it. "With the energy signatures they're talking about, Darcy, they don't want to take the chance of Tony meeting Tony or-"

"But they're willing to take the chance with you?" she snapped.

"I'm not going to meet myself, coming through the rye, so to speak," Harris said. His voice sounded calm to his ears. Steady and calm. He was pleased about that. “Darcy. Someone has to go with him. He's a kid. He's-” He glanced towards the bathroom, but there was no movement. “I'm not going to make him go alone. I can't.”

“Why-” She broke off, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin up, her eyes avoiding his. “They're trained for this, Harris, you're not.”

“I don't think anyone's really TRAINED for this,” Harris said.

Her mouth went tight, two spots of pink rising in her pale cheeks. “You know what I mean!”

Harris nodded. “I know. but I'm still the most qualified person for the job,” he said.

“How do you figure that?” She started to pace, pushing her hands through her hair. “Seriously. How- What are you going to do if something goes wrong?”

He sighed. “Trust that Jane knows what she's doing, that all of them do, and that they'll do everything possible to keep us safe, no matter what.” He shrugged. “That's pretty much all I can do, Darce.”

She shook her head. She was pale, her eyes big and dark, a muscle in her jaw jumping. “I can't talk about this right now.

“Darce-” He looked up, and sucked in a breath, and told himself it was easy. “If you want to discuss it, we have to do it now. There's really, there's not going to be another chance.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor, her bright lips squeezed into a tight line. “Is there any point?” Her hands were in fists at her sides. “Is there anything I can say that could actually change your mind?”

His chest felt tight. Breathing hurt. He sucked in a breath anyway. “No.”

“Then what's the point of discussing? I don't like to waste my breath, or my time.” She turned on her heel, her shoulders up, her back straight. “Go ahead and risk your life, but don't ask me to stand around and WATCH.”

“Darcy-”

She slid out the door, pulling it shut behind her with an almost silent click. Harris bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, struggling to regulate his breathing. His eyes closed, and he focused on the slow, careful rhythm of inhales and exhales.

“I don't have time for this,” he said, the words breathy and high, but audible. He lowered himself back to the couch, pressing both hands to his face. He wished he could feel panicky, but there was nothing there, other than a strange sense of calm. 

“Darcy left?”

Harris let his hands fall away from his face. DJ was hovering just inside the living room, one hand still braced on the bedroom door. “Yep,” he said. He took a deep breath, and then another, then he reached for his coffee cup. The cold, stale brew was strangely comforting.. “She had work to do. And so do we.”

DJ stared up at him, his eyes dark and shadowed, his brows drawn up tight. “Didn't say good-bye.”

“I know.” Harris rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm sorry, I didn't think.”

“It's okay.” DJ crouched down next to the Roomba, running careful fingers over the case. It spun under his hands, wobbling away from him, and then back. DJ grinned down at it, and then up at Harris. “You like Darcy?”

Harris smiled at him. “I like Darcy,” he agreed.

DJ blinked at him, slow and careful. “Why?”

Harris considered that, one finger tapping against the empty coffee cup. “Some people,” he said at last, “will tease you, and they'll be mean about it.” His finger stilled. “Cruel. But they hide their cruelty under humor, and they use that against you. They hurt you, and laugh about it. They use humor as an attack, and a shield. Because they'll hurt you, but when you try to say it, they'll tell you that it's just a joke.

“When I met Darcy, I thought-” His eyes narrowed. “I was really tired. Have you ever been really, really tired, like so tired you stop being tired, and you're just awake? Even though you don't want to be.”

DJ considered that. “Yes,” he said, so emphatic that Harris laughed. 

“Yeah, I figured. C'mon.” Harris pushed himself up, collecting Darcy's coffee cup and heading for the kitchen. DJ wandered along behind him, hopping over the Roomba with every other step. He stopped at the edge of the kitchen tile, letting the Roomba adjust, and Harris rinsed the cups in the sink.

Harris watched the water swirl in the sink, light catching each ripple. “I was at SHIELD, in a conference room, all by myself, and I couldn't-” His fingers pressed against his breastbone, the memory enough to catch the breath in his chest. “I wasn't doing well, let's just say that. And Darcy walked in.”

His fingers flexed, then relaxed. “And she was bright and beautiful and she had a wicked smile on her lips.” He smiled at DJ. “Know what I mean? Like, she was smiling, but at some private joke?” DJ nodded. “So she walked in, and came all the way up the length of the conference table and sat down next to me. She looked at me, up and down, and-”

He paused. “I'd broken my arm before this, see, and I had my arm in a cast. Have you ever broken a bone?”

DJ tapped his shoulder. “Collar bone.”

Harris winced. “Ooooh, I did that when I was about your age. That stinks.” DJ nodded, smiling up at him. “But I had a broken arm, when I met Darcy. And she sat down next to me, and she looked at my arm, and said, 'You know, I thought the arm twisting they did around here was just verbal. Looks like you were a whole other level of trouble for Coulson.'”

He smiled. “And then she just went. I could barely get a word in, but that was okay, because I didn't really-” He shrugged. “I didn't have anything to say.” He swirled his coffee cup under the water, wiping it with the sponge and setting it carefully beside the sink. His motions were mechanical, comforting as he washed Darcy's cup, too. “I think she knew that. So she just teased me for a solid half hour, and by the time anyone else joined us, I could breathe again. I could almost laugh.”

He glanced down at DJ, who was leaning against the counter next to him. “But all that time, all the things she said? She never said a word about my height, or how skinny I was. Which I was kind of expecting. Some people, they tease you, and they use that as a cover to say things that are...” His mouth screwed up. “Mean. And when someone teases me about my height, especially if they don't know me, what they mean...”

Harris wiped water off of the counter. “They mean that there's something wrong with me. That I don't measure up. That there's something wrong with me, and they noticed it and they want to make sure I know they noticed it.” He set the towel aside and crouched down in front of DJ. “Sometimes, people say things without knowing that they'll hurt you. And sometimes, they'll say things, knowing full well that they'll hurt you, and it's really hard to tell the difference.

“But when you find someone who can tease you and make you laugh, instead of hurting you, that's special. Someone who can make you smile, when you don't want to smile...” He grinned. “When I met Darcy, I was scared. I was really afraid, but I was so tired that I didn't even realize it. Afterward, I realized. That I had been scared, and alone, and I think she knew that. She knew that, and she was kind, when she didn't have to be.”

He stood up. “And she made me smile. She always makes me smile.” He looked around. “I think we're ready to go, don't you?” He held his hand out to DJ.

DJ took it. “I like Darcy, too,” he said.

“I'm glad. Because I know she likes you. She showed you how to crash a water slide, didn't she?” Harris asked, and DJ giggled. Harris squeezed his hand. “Let's go downstairs. See if they need you to fix anything before you go home.”

“Okay.” DJ looked back. “Roomba?”

“I think it can come along this last time,” Harris agreed. “But you have to leave it in the workshop, okay? No stowaways.” DJ nodded, and Harris took a breath. “DJ?” DJ looked up at him. “Is Darcy... Is she happy, where you come from?”

DJ was silent, his eyes narrowing. “Yes,” he said at last. “She laughs. A lot.”

Harris nodded. “I'm glad.” And it was true. He was glad. “Let's go, before they give up on us and start breaking stuff down.”

*


	5. Chapter 5

It was scarier up close.

Harris did his best not to look at the machine, humming away now with a tone, a vibration that he couldn't quite hear, but that he could feel, crawling across his skin. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to chase away the crawling sensation of goosebumps. He wasn't particularly successful, but he preferred trying and failing to not trying at all.

Which, he supposed, said a lot about him. 

“You are being very brave,” Thor was saying to DJ, drawing his attention. The two were seated side by side on the edge of a raised section of the floor. Thor leaned towards him, his smile warm. “But I have traveled in such a manner many times.” He waved a hand in the air. “The rainbow bridge carries us between worlds with but a few steps; this is no different.”

DJ nodded, leaning against Thor's side. Thor patted him gently on the head. “You will be home soon, little one,” he said, his voice warm.

“It's really quite ingenious.”

Harris looked over. Bruce was standing there, hugging a clipboard to his chest. He gave Harris a half smile, the light of the portal making the lenses of his glasses opaque and white for a moment. “The portal, I mean,” Bruce said. “Want to know how it works?”

“Is it magic?” Harris asked.

Bruce's eyebrows arched. “No?”

“I'm good with that,” Harris said, making Bruce grin. “Anything else you might say is going to go right over my head.” He looked up at it, his stomach rolling over.

It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, a huge arch of polished silver metal holding together a gleaming mirror of blue-silver light. The light flared, getting brighter in one moment, then dulling to the glow of a full moon. It seemed to pulse, or breathe, fighting a ceaseless battle against the machine that held it firmly in place. 

It looked like it was trying to swallow the world.

“Hey!” 

From across the workshop, Clint gave a wave. “Bon voyage, kiddo!” he said, ambling in their direction. Right behind him was Natasha and Darcy, and a breath that Harris hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding hissed out of him. “Jarvis says you're taking off,” Clint said, grinning at DJ, who nodded. “Awesome.”

Harris met Darcy's eyes with a smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet, as Clint and Natasha said their good-byes to DJ.

Darcy's chin went up. “I'm only here to say good-bye to DJ,” she said. “I mean, I'm not Miss Manners or anything, but it would be rude not to say good-bye.” Her jaw worked for a second. “Probably not going to see him again.”

Harris nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. “But thanks for coming, anyway. I-” He stopped, trying to find a way to say this. “It's easier. When you're here.” He smiled. “Everything's easier when you're here.”

Her face softened, just a little, but enough. “Not keeping your pants on,” she pointed out.

“No, that's a LOT harder,” Harris agreed, and she giggled. It was small and almost inaudible, but it lingered on her lips, on her face. “Thanks, Darcy.”

“Let's get one thing straight,” she said, giving him a slit eyed look. “I'm here only because this is Jane's. Because I will trust Jane, no matter what, and if she says this thing will get you out and back, well, then-” She took a deep breath. “That's enough for me. I like Hank, and Stark's good for most things, and I can tolerate Mr. 'My Morals Are As Stretchy As My Ass Is-'”

Harris choked on a laugh. “Wait, Mr. WHAT?”

Darcy ignored him. “But this is Jane's. They're just lab assistants, and Jane-” Her chin came up. “Jane is the best there is.” She gave Harris a smile. “You're going to be okay.”

“I know.”

Before they could say anything else, DJ broke away from Clint and bounced over to Darcy, his bare feet slapping against the floor of the workshop. “Thank you,” he said, smiling up at her. “For Roller Coasters.”

“You are welcome for roller coasters!” Darcy crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees. She took a breath. “So I need you to promise me something,” she said, her voice deliberately light. She smiled at him, and DJ nodded. 

“I know you don't have a Harris,” she said. “Which is a shame. A Harris is a nice thing to have. But that doesn't mean you can keep ours, okay? I understand wanting to do it, but you can't.” She blinked hard, her eyelashes flicking behind the lenses of her glasses. “We need him. We don't have a DJ, so it seems only fair that we get to keep our Harris. And that means, when you're home. When you get home, when you're safe, and with your family, you need to send him back.

“It'll be hard. He's very responsible, so he's not going to want to leave you. But once you're safe,” Darcy whispered, “you need to send him back. Can you promise me?”

DJ considered her, his head tipped to the side. After a moment of silent thought, he nodded. “Yes,” he said at last. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Darcy held up a hand, her pinky finger extended. “Pinky promise?” DJ gave her finger a puzzled look. “What, you don't know what a pinky promise is?” Darcy asked, grinning. “What are they TEACHING you over there? Here. Hold up your hand, just like mine.” DJ did, extending his pinky in a tentative manner, and Darcy hooked her finger around his. “There. That's a pinky promise. The most binding kind of promise.”

DJ grinned. “Pinky promise,” he said.

“Brilliant.” She leaned forward, and kissed his forehead. “I'll miss you, goof .” 

“Miss you, too.” DJ smiled as she stood up.

Harris held out a hand. “Ready?”

DJ took it. “Ready,” he said, linking his fingers with Harris'.

Tony was waiting for them on the platform. “We're not going to be able to hold it for long,” he said. He glanced up at Harris, his face unreadable. “You sure about this?”

“It's fine.” Harris ignored the burn of panic that clawed at his breastbone. He could ignore it. He could do this. “I'm not sending him in alone.”

“It's stable, and the probes have come back intact,” Reed said, his elongated arms spreading along the length of the consoles, impossibly long and seemingly everywhere at once. Reed barely spared him a glance. Harris got the feeling that he wasn't considered particularly important, as far as the process went. “But if you'd care to do this, now is the time. We're on borrowed time.”

“But on the positive side,” Hank said, massive hands surprisingly delicate as they danced over the holographic displays, “the portal appears to have been stabilized from the other side.”

“Which means what?” Harris asked. DJ's fingers squeezed on his, and Harris squeezed back.

“It means they gave us the anchor point,” Jane said. She was hunched over her work, her fingers pounding away at her work with all the strength in her slim frame. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, and every twitch of her head caught the light, whiting out the lenses. “Bruce.” Without looking up, she shoved a holographic display towards Bruce, who caught it.

“Thank you, I was looking for just this,” he said. 

“And it means that if you're doing this, you need to do it now,” Tony said. He crouched down in front of DJ. “You did this once. You can do it again.”

DJ nodded. “Yes.” He held his hand up, and after a beat of pause, Tony gave him a careful high five.

Tony's hand dropped, and he stared down at it. “Where did you come from?” he asked, the words barely audible, as if he was talking to himself and not DJ. But DJ answered anyway.

“Boston,” he said, grinning. The Roomba wobbled past, and DJ leaned over, patting it lightly on the case. And he rattled off an address. Tony's head came up, his eyes narrowing.

“Tony!” Bruce leaned back at his station. “We're getting spikes. Now.”

Tony shook his head. “Right.” He stood up, but he was still staring at DJ, his expression puzzled. “Okay. Ready?”

DJ looked up at Harris. Harris smiled, a little of the panic falling away. He squeezed DJ's hand. “I'm ready,” he said. “Are you?” DJ took a deep breath, and gave a sharp nod, his chin coming up. “Okay, then. Let's get you home.” He glanced back, and Darcy gave him a thumbs up.

“Remember our deal, little Stark!” she called, and DJ nodded.

“Promise,” he said. He looked up at Harris. Harris gave him a smile. 

“Ready, set, go,” he said, and the two of them took the step forward together. For a moment, it was just light and a strange, tingling across his skin, and a strange sense of pressure, like he was walking through something that wasn't entirely solid, but still resented his presence. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't breathe, he just leaned into it, his muscles straining as he forced his way forward.

He was through so suddenly that he nearly fell. The pressure fell away, the strain against his skin, and the light dimmed, until it no longer hurt his eyes even through his eyelids. He took a step forward, and another, before he took a breath. He took a third before he risked opening his eyes. As his eyes cleared, he concentrated on keeping his legs moving.

It was like walking on a wet sponge. A wet sponge that wanted to eat him.

Harris did his best not to look down, not to look up, not to look anywhere but straight ahead. DJ's grip on his hand was the only real thing left, and he clung to it. He would've been ashamed of that, but DJ seemed to be doing the same thing, both of his hands wrapped around one of Harris' with force enough to leave bruises. Harris concentrated on moving, on walking. On not freaking out.

But moment by moment, step by step, his eyes seemed to adjust to the chaotic, swirling light that surrounded them. Ahead, some distance away, the light seemed to dim, seemed to hold something more stable. As they moved forward, DJ bumping up against his side with almost every step, the tunnel gained an end point.

And he could see something moving on the other side.

It was just color at first, a wash of blues that shifted on their own. Unsure of what was happening, Harris stopped, dragging DJ to a halt. DJ glanced up at him, but didn't say a word, just leaned against Harris' side, half hidden behind him.

The other end of the portal stabilized, the 'picture' coming clear. 

Captain America was standing there, shield in hand, staring into the portal. Harris took a half-step back, but there was no reaction from Steve. They could see out, but it seemed that Steve couldn't see in. Steve took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the force of it, and took a step forward.

“Thor. Do it.”

Harris didn't understand for an instant, and that was okay, because neither did Steve. His reaction was just a split second too slow, because by the time he figured it out, by the time he figured that he should be moving, Thor was there, behind him, his arms snapping out to wrap around Steve, putting him firmly in a headlock. Understanding dawned, and then, right on its heels, rage, but it was too late. Thor's grip was firm, the muscles of his arms bulging as he half lifted Steve off of his feet. “Go,” he said, his voice tense. “He is not an easy opponent to subdue without injury.”

“Going.” Iron Man appeared, stepping in front of them, a gleaming pillar of red and gold, striding towards the portal.

“Stark, you BASTARD,” Steve snarled. “We agreed-”

Iron Man's steps paused, just a single hitch in his stride, and then he was passing through the portal. “I lied,” he said, pushing his way in. And right behind him, a bot rolled along in his wake, arm bouncing as it nudged at the portal entrance.

DJ sighed, and Harris' gaze snapped in his direction. “What the hell was that?” he heard himself ask, and DJ blinked up at him.

“Dad,” he said, as if that explained everything, and maybe it did, because Harris was suddenly face to face with the flat, expressionless faceplate of the Iron Man armor, and it was bigger in real life than he'd expected. It loomed in front of him, over him, and Harris took a halting step back, pushing DJ along with him. 

Iron Man's hand snapped up. “Don't,” he said, the word just audible under the thin, sustained sound of the repulsor in his palm powering up. “Trust me. Do. Not.”

Harris' breath hitched in his throat, his lungs seizing as the white light flared in the hollow of Iron Man's palm. For an instant, he understood why deer stopped in the middle of the road, how they became pinned in the lights of an oncoming vehicle. Pinned in place, he tried to tear his eyes away from it. “Do you really want to kill me in front of him?” he asked.

The fingers flexed. “Not really,” Iron Man said. “But I will. Step away from him.”

Harris stared him down, his hands firm on DJ's shoulders. “I just-” His eyes darted down, into the miniature star that was the repulsor, and his stomach turned over. “I want to make sure he's going back to the right place,” he rushed out. “He's been lost. I need to know he's going home, that he doesn't have to go through that again.” His tongue darted out, moistening his lips. “Just. Please. I need to know he's going home.”

Iron Man's fingers curled in towards his palm, his arm coming down, just an inch, two inches, but enough. Harris sucked in a breath, and he could feel himself shake. “He's mine.” The mask popped up, and Tony Stark stared at him, eyes narrowed. “And I'm his.”

“Who am I?” 

DJ's voice was small and quiet, almost lost in the sound of Harris' breathing, but real. He peeked around Harris' side, his fingers digging into the fabric of Harris' shirt. 

Tony exhaled. There was fear on his face, a sort of fear that Harris flinched from, the sort he remembered. He didn't look away from Harris, keeping a sharp, wary eye on him, but his attention was clearly on DJ. His voice was stable and calm when he answered the question. “My first, my best, my greatest creation. And more than I could ever have made.” His smile was lopsided and uneven, his eyes dropping to DJ. He reached up, pulling his helmet free. It hung from his limp hand, swinging through the air before it tumbled to the glowing floor of the portal. “Who am I?”

DJ grinned. “Creating unit.”

Tony seemed to collapse, to fall to ruin in front of them, his whole body folding forward, and then he was on his knees. He held out his hands, and DJ pushed past Harris, flinging himself into the shelter of his father's arms. Tony's arms locked around him, dragging him in, holding on tight. “I'm sorry,” he said, his face buried in DJ's hair. “I'm sorry, botboy. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-”

“Got lost,” DJ said, his hands trying to find purchase on the armor, tiny fingers sinking into the seams. “It's okay. It's okay.” His grin was brilliant. “I'm okay.”

Tony laughed, watery and wobbly. “Are you trying to reassure me? Really? What the hell, kid, that's my job.” One hand cupped DJ's face, and he pressed tight lips to DJ's forehead, his eyes falling shut. Tears were sliding down his cheeks, lost in DJ's curls, and his arms were locked tight, as if he would never let the boy go again.

“Bad at it,” DJ said, and this time, Tony's laugh was bright and familiar.

He leaned back, still crying, even as his grin stretched across his face. “Are you all right? Look at me, head up, what's wrong, are you all right, where have you BEEN-”

DJ's fingers locked on the neck of the suit boosting himself up. His feet kicked, bare heels scraping against the smooth surface of the armor, and Tony hugged him tight. “Lost,” he repeated, as if that meant anything. “Okay. I'm okay. They-” His head twisted around, and he grinned at Harris. “Were nice to me.”

Tony's head came up, his fingers still smoothing through DJ's hair. Despite the heavy armor gauntlets, his touch was gentle. “Sorry,” he said. 

Harris was already shaking his head. “It's fine, I'd be the same, it's-” He looked up. “Sorry it took us so long.” 

“Okay, we got to go, everyone's worried.” Tony stood, DJ still cradled in his arms. “Also, Steve's mad. At you. He's very mad at you. You should hug him immediately.”

DJ gave him a look. “Mad at you,” he said, leaning against Tony's shoulder. “Not me.”

“Okay, that, that might be true, he might be a tiny bit mad at me right now, he might be, so we're just going to use you as a tiny, adorable human shield against his wrath, okay?” Tony kissed the top of DJ's head, his eyes closing, for just a second, his face twisting with something Harris couldn't quite identify. “You'll absorb the wrath for me, right?”

“No,” DJ told him, and Harris started to laugh. 

“He's a terrible kid,” Tony said, and his arms were locked in place, he was holding onto DJ like there was nothing else left in his world. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Yeah, you're clearly a terrible father, so, good match,” Harris said. He held a hand out to Dummy. “C'mon, want to go home? Butterfingers and You are looking for you.” The bot rolled over, fitting his support strut under Harris' hand. “Everyone else is, too, but Jarvis says they've been worried.”

“Our Butterfingers and You took care of him,” Tony said. “He needs his bearings changed.” He leaned over, collecting his helmet from the floor. “Tell your Stark that the design he had in there is shit.” He cleared his throat. “I fixed it.”

Harris nodded. “I'll tell Tony.” He managed a smile for DJ, who was peering at him, his head tucked under Tony's chin. “He's pretty much only had smoothies, and he hasn't been sleeping well, but-” He met Tony's eyes. “We took care of him. As best we could.”

Tony nodded. “Thank you.” One metal covered hand smoothed over DJ's head, over the soft curls of his hair. “I- Appreciate that.”

“I know. And, uh, our Tony wants you to know, this was totally Reed Richards' fault.”

Tony's eyes rolled up. “Somehow,” he said, turning back towards the end of the portal, “I don't have any problem believing that.” DJ twisted in his arms, peering over his shoulder to wave at Harris.

“Bye!” Harris said, waving back. 

“Okay,” Tony said, his head tipped down over DJ's. “Think adorable. Really adorable. And remember, you're all that's standing between me and death by Captain America. I'm depending on you, which is a mistake, I know it's a mistake, you're unreliable, you can't even be counted on to sit in one place, I left you right there in the workshop and what do you do? You wandered off to a new dimension, that's, that's not acceptable, Deej. We're going to need to make new rules because that? Not at all acceptable.”

Harris heard DJ giggle, and then they were passing through the barrier and gone. He kept his eyes on them still, though, on Steve pulling free of Thor's grip and flinging himself forward. He watched, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, as Steve ran towards them, his face agonized. DJ held out his hands, laughing, and then Steve was hugging them both, sweeping them both into his arms.

There were others, in the background. Shadowy figures who looked like people he knew, people he liked, were there in the periphery, hovering, waiting, as the Steve ran his hands over DJ's head, over his arms and his tiny body, checking and double checking for some phantom injury until DJ reached his arms out, silently demanding another hug. 

He got it.

Harris turned. “Let's go,” he said to Dummy, who promptly rolled off without him, heading for the other end of the portal with the confidence of a homing pigeon. Laughing, half hysterical, Harris followed behind, almost running by the time they made it back.

Then he was pushing through and into the workshop.

For an instant, there was silence, the sort of frozen, still silence that made it seem that everyone was holding their breath. Harris let out a laugh that sounded too high and too sharp. “We are down one kid, and up one bot,” he said, and the room erupted in cheers. “They're clear, you can shut it down.”

He took one breath, and then another, and then Darcy was slamming into him in a hug that was half desperate affection and half attack and he was not prepared for either. They went down with a thump, and he hit hard, his ass taking the brunt of it.

He didn't care, because Darcy was kissing him, or maybe he was kissing her, it didn't really matter.

“Jarvis, how's he doing?” Tony asked, his voice full of laughter. 

“He was uninjured prior to his return,” Jarvis said. “He may be injured now.”

“Well, keep us updated,” Tony said, and Darcy raised her head, just far enough to flip him off. Tony grinned down at them. “Hail the conquering hero,” he said, making Harris laugh.

“I am NEVER doing that again,” he said, and he sounded hysterical now. He managed to sit up, Darcy still right there, her legs tangled with his. “I need a damn vacation.”

“We'll talk to Coulson about that,” Tony said, as Dummy's head popped up over his shoulder. Laughing, Tony rubbed his hand over the bot's arm. “Where the hell have you been? Did you steal me any good data? Jarvis, is he all right?” 

“He is quite excited to be home,” Jarvis said, and the bot nudged up against Tony's side before he rolled off towards the sink area.

“Victory smoothies for all!” Tony said, wandering off after his bot.

“You okay?” Darcy asked.

“No,” Harris said. “My ass hurts.”

“I'll kiss it and make it better, you whiner,” Darcy said. 

“Looking forward to it.” Harris looked up as Bruce stopped in front of them. “We're good?” he asked.

Bruce gave him a slight smile. “We're good,” he agreed. “Good job.”

“I think that's what I'm supposed to be saying to you,” Harris said, as Bruce helped them both up, first Darcy, and then Harris. He wobbled on his feet, adrenaline still bubbling through him. “Thanks.”

“Jane!” Darcy said, darting off towards where Jane was getting a huge hug from a visibly proud Thor. Laughing, Thor scooped Darcy into his arms as well, his bear hug enveloping them both.

Bruce patted Harris on the shoulder. “Go sit down,” he said, smiling. “The first time's the hardest.”

“First and last,” Harris said. Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him, but was polite enough not to laugh in his face. Giving up, Harris headed across the lab to where Tony was seated on the counter next to the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, watching with amusement as Dummy made smoothies. There were three cups already sitting, ready to go, and Dummy was hard at work on a fourth.

Harris took a deep breath. “Tony?”

Tony looked up. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Tony didn't look convinced, so Harris added a quick nod. “Tony?” He managed a slight smile. “He's a very good dad.”

Tony's face went still, just for a second, his mouth going flat and his eyes going dark. It was there, and gone, in an instant, so fast that Harris wasn't entirely certain that he didn't imagine it. But Tony's smile was practiced and smooth, and it didn't reach his eyes. “Yeah?” he said, going back to his console. “And you figured this out in the long amount of time you had to interact with him?”

His hands were shaking, and he braced them against his knees. “It didn't take long.” He looked up, staring at he ceiling until his vision whited out on the edges. “Really, all it took was one look at his face.” Slowly, carefully, ignoring the way that his legs threatened to give out under him, he stood. “You didn't see him. I did. I saw him pick up DJ, and apologize to him, and carry him home.

“I saw his face, but more than that?” His throat still tasted of burning ozone and grit and metal. He swallowed, and that didn't make it better. It just spread the taste around. “I saw DJ's.” His shoulders rose and fell in an awkward shrug. “I know a father when I see one. And I know a dad.”

Tony nodded, his head down. “Glad to hear it,” he said, but some of the tension went out of his body.

“Also,” Harris said, “he replaced Dummy's bearings.”

“He WHAT?” Tony asked, his eyes going wide. “Like fuck he did, Dummy, get over here, it's maintenance time.”

Dummy picked up a smoothie cup and rolled off across the workshop.

“You little brat, get back here!” Tony yelled after him. “I'm going to make you check ids in the lobby, Dummy!”

Grinning, Harris leaned against the sink and reached for a cup. Somehow, this seemed normal. It didn't worry him as much as it probably should have.

*

"He's all right?"

"He's fine."

"You're sure?"

Tony paused, almost mid-step, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. "I'm sure."

"Did you just roll your eyes at me? Really?"

Tony grinned. "You are halfway around the world, how would you know what I am or am not doing?"

"That sounded like a complete lack of a denial to me," Rhodey said.

"I was not rolling my eyes at you."

"And THAT sounded like a lie."

"I will hang up on you, you know I will, I was raised by wolves, I will do it and then I will change my number so you can never call me back, which is a lot of work to go through just because you're annoying me, but I've got a clean slate and I've done stupider things with less provocation so I'm pretty sure-"

"Do I have to fly over there? Are you going to make me do this?" Rhodey asked, exhasperation audible in his voice.

Tony smiled. "Did I ask you to fly over here?" he shot back. "He's fine. After the initial sobbing-hugging-yelling disaster of a reunion, he went back to his bot form and let Jarvis do the talking for him." He sucked in a breath, his throat tight around the words. "He's tired, and it was a very stressful experience." He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. "For all of us."

"You're not kidding."

"But we lucked out, as much as we can say luck was involved," Tony said, heading up the hallway. "He's fine. They-” He punched the elevator button with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary. “They took care of him.”

Rhodey sucked in a slow breath, as if bracing himself. "It's not your fault."

Tony gave a short, hard burst of laughter. "Yeah," he said.

"You know it's not. None of this was." 

He stepped into the elevator, letting the doors shut behind him. “Yeah,” he repeated, leaning against the wall. At this point he needed the support. “You okay?”

“You know I am. I'm not going to ask if you are, because you're in a lying sort of mood and I hate it when you pull this shit and I'm not close enough to shake you out of it. Preferably literally,” Rhodey said. 

“Steve'll handle it for you until you get leave,” Tony said. “If he's still speaking to me.”

“You knew there'd be consequences.”

“Yeah, still easier to deal with the consequences than try to convince him that he's being insane,” Tony said. “Trying to get Steve to change course once he's made up his mind is like trying to talk a glacier into heading in a different direction. I consider myself fortunate that Thor didn't have to involve Mjolnir.”

“I hate it when you're right.” Rhodey sighed. “Look, I'll be by as soon as I can.”

“It's fine-”

“I will be there, as soon as I can,” Rhodey said, talking over him. “Understood?”

“DJ's missed you,” Tony said, as the elevator came to a stop.

“Uh-huh. DJ has?”

“He's the smart one,” Tony pointed out. 

“I heard that. Call me if there's any change?”

“We're fine.”

“Call me if-”

“Jesus, fine, I'll call you, what are you lonely? Do you need a date? When's the last time you had a date, will-”

“Good-bye, Tony.”

“I can get you a date,” Tony said, even as the line went dead. “That man has no manners,” he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Jay, they still in the lounge?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks.” He was tired, he was so tired it felt like he was sleepwalking, swaying on his feet with every step. The short trip exhausted him, and he paused in the doorway, drinking in the visual in front of him.

Steve was sitting on the couch, his legs thrown across the cushions and his back against the armrest, with DJ sprawled across his chest. He was curled up in the shelter of Steve's arms, his head tucked under Steve's chin, bundled up tight in what looked like one of Clint's sweatshirts and half a dozen blankets. As Tony watched, his chest hurting, Steve pressed a kiss to DJ's hair, and DJ smiled, his eyes half closed, all but basking in the attention. Furbro was perched on the back of the couch, within easy reach of clutching fingers. Wall-E was playing, and a couple of empty bowls and glasses littered the coffee table in front of them.

Tony paused in the doorway, bracing his shoulder against the doorframe. “You know,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “you're going to have to stop hugging that child eventually.”

Steve made a considering noise under his breath. “That sounds like a lie, Stark,” he mused, a faint smile curling his lips. 

“Seriously,” Tony said, pushing himself upright. “You can't live the rest of your life like this, kid.”

“Can,” DJ said, his voice sleepy and happy and half muffled by the fleece. His yawn was perfectly audible, though.

“Can't,” Tony said, his lips twitching.

“Caaaaaaaaaaaan,” DJ sing-songed.

“I'm fine with it,” Steve said, when Tony looked at him.

“You're supposed to back me up here,” Tony pointed out.

“And you were supposed to let me go get him,” Steve said, his eyebrows arching, his smile going thin for a moment. “Like we agreed.”

Tony shrugged, pulling a face. “Yeah. I lied about that.”

“I noticed,” Steve said, but he held out a hand. “Everything all cleaned up downstairs?”

“Mostly.” Tony took Steve's hand and let himself be reeled in. “Can I get in on this, botboy?” he asked, and DJ made a happy noise. 

Steve sat up, shifting sideways, pulling DJ into his lap so that Tony could plop down next to them. Tony hadn't realized how exhausted he was until he was sitting down, let alone how much everything hurt. As Steve resettled DJ between them in the nest of blankets, Tony stretched out, trying to get the kinks out of his back and his shoulders.

“You okay?” Steve asked, keeping half an eye on him as DJ tugged the blankets into an acceptable position. The hood of the sweatshirt flopped over his face, and Steve pushed it back with a gentle hand. “You still need to breathe, kiddo.”

“Fine,” Tony said, managing a wan smile. He put his feet up on the table, nudging a bowl to the side with one heel. “What'd we have for dinner?” Tony asked, smoothing a hand over DJ's head. DJ leaned into the touch, his eyes falling closed for a second. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sleepy and his mouth hanging open, just a tiny bit.

“Congee,” he said, with a broad, loopy smile.

Tony's eyebrows arched. “Oh, is that where Bruce disappeared to? You stole my second best lab assistant to make you rice porridge, you little bratbot?”

“Yep,” DJ said, rubbing his cheek against Steve's shoulder. “Good.”

“Bruce seemed to be pleased to be asked,” Steve said. He shifted DJ, just a little bit, cradling him close, and DJ's eyes slid shut. Tony shifted, giving them some space, and DJ reached out, latching onto his shirt with one little hand. 

“Yeah, he usually is.” Tony covered DJ's hand with his own. “You're a spoiled little thing, you know that, right?” he whispered. DJ's fingers twitched against his, but he just smiled. Tony leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “You just tug on someone's sleeve and they drop everything to give you whatever you want.” He leaned back. “I mean, most everyone. Not me. I'm onto you.”

“Laugh it up, Stark,” Steve said with a smile. His eyes danced in the low light. “Guess who's making him breakfast?”

“Is it Clint? Or you? Those are both good choices,” Tony said.

“Dad,” DJ mumbled.

“You have chosen poorly,” Tony told him. He leaned his head on Steve's shoulder. “Go to sleep, babybot.”

DJ struggled to open his eyes. “Be here?” he asked.

Tony shook his head, but Steve, as always, caught on faster than he did. “We'll still be right here when you wake up,” he promised. “We love you.”

“Steve loves you,” Tony said, his thumb stroking the back of DJ's hand. “I'm still thinking about it.”

DJ yawned. “Love you,” he mumbled.

“Well, then I guess I love you, too,” Tony said. “Just a little bit, though. Not much. Not much at all. Just-” He leaned in. “A tiny, tiny bit.” DJ's breath left him in a giggle that ended on a sigh, soft and low. 

Another few breaths, slow and deep, and DJ went limp. Tony glanced up. “And he's out,” he said with a wry smile. “Just like that.”

“Just like that,” Steve agreed. “I'm kind of surprised he held out as long as he did, to be honest.”

“I believe he was waiting for sir,” Jarvis said. “He is calmest when both of you are present.”

Tony nodded. "Tell me he's okay," he said, for what was probably the fiftieth time since he'd walked back through the portal with DJ locked in his arms. 

Luckily, Jarvis was more patient than he deserved. "He is fine," he said, his voice soothing. "All scans are normal. He is tired, and needs time to recover, as he has been through an ordeal, but he is adaptable, and quite resilient."

"Just like his dad," Steve said, and Tony huffed out a laugh.

"Yeah, doesn't feel like it right now." He trailed a gentle hand over DJ's hair, separating the strands, relearning the feel of him beneath his palm. It felt like it had been a lifetime.

"Then, perhaps he is more resilient than his father," Jarvis said, his voice brisk and bordering on stern. Tony bit back a grin. "I have spoken to him at length, sir. He is fine. Happy, very happy, to be home, but he was well treated. They were..." Jarvis paused, and when he continued, his voice was softer, gentler. "Kind to him. They kept him safe, and reassured him, to the best of their ability. He is simply tired; remaining human, without the option of choosing his bot form, where his emotions are more controllable, where his mind is more orderly, was difficult for him. He has never spent so long as a human at one stretch."

"He could be a bot now, he knows that, right?" Steve said, his head resting on Tony's shoulder. He shifted, pushing closer, and Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He considered making a smart remark about someone needing reassurance, but he was pretty sure it was him, and calling attention to the fact wasn't going to be good for his dignity.

“At this point, his need for physical reassurance outweighs any relief he might get from his robot form,” Jarvis said. “I suspect the meal was a great relief as well.”

Tony nodded. “Never seen him eat after charging,” he said.

“He was... Hungry,” Jarvis said. “But more than that, you are correct, he is entirely spoiled. I suspect that as much as he needed the food, his greater need was for the reassurance that if he asked, it would be made for him. That Dr. Banner would not only feed him, when requested, but also remember what it is that wanted. He had difficulty dealing with people that were familiar to him, but to whom he was a stranger.

“I suspect he wanted to be sure. That he was safe at home.”

“So, Bruce's congee,” Tony said.

Steve sighed, but he was smiling. “Bruce's congee,” he agreed. “And Clint's sweatshirt. Phil's cocoa, and a cookie from Thor. Natasha's lullaby-”

“Well, glad that happened before I came up,” Tony said. “Russian lullabies terrify me.”

Steve tugged his chin around and kissed him, his lips lingering against Tony's. “And you, finding him and bringing him home.”

Tony closed his eyes, blinking hard against the sting. “Took me long enough.” And he still might not have managed it, without the help from his other self. The fear, the sense of inadequacy, swept over him, and he closed his eyes, struggling to hold himself together.

Steve's thumb stroked against Tony's jaw. “You got him back. That's all that he cares about. All that any of us care about.” He leaned his forehead against Tony's, his breath shuddering out of him. “So mad at you.”

Tony gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah,” he whispered. His voice sounded raw, ragged on the edges of the words. “I got that.”

Steve's fingers tightened, just a bit, just enough. “I can't believe you-”

“I can't believe you didn't see that coming,” Tony said, because it was okay, it was fine, because Steve was still there, curled around him and DJ both, his hands tangled in Tony's hair, in the blankets. “You know I'm an asshole, Rogers.”

Steve's lips were gentle on his temple. “I know you'll do just about anything to protect him.” He exhaled. “I just thought you knew I would, too.”

“That is not in question,” Tony said, shifting back, far enough so he could see Steve's face. “I needed-” Words seemed inadequate, and he bit back a curse. “If it hadn't worked-”

“If it hadn't worked, we needed you here,” Steve said. “We've had this discussion, we had this discussion about fifty times, and you agreed to let me go. If this had been a trap, I would've had a better chance to-”

“I needed you here,” Tony said, because there was nothing else to say. “This was my best try. This was... All I had.” He managed a smile that hurt, that felt tight and thin on his face. “I was out of ideas. But if it HAD been a trap, if I'd gone missing, too, you would've made them keep looking.”

He pushed himself up. Steve let him go, and the loss of body heat hit him hard. “You're good at that. At never... Giving up.” He smiled. “You would have made sure that they kept looking for him.”

Steve studied him, his eyes dark, his face unreadable. “I felt useless,” he said, his voice very quiet. “When he disappeared. When-” He licked his lips, his jaw tight. “I couldn't do anything to help get him back, Tony. That was all you. I just wanted-” His eyes closed, his breath shuddering out of him. “To help.”

Tony nodded. “We don't love you because you're useful,” he said, too tired to be anything but blunt. “We don't want you here because you can do things for us, Steve.”

“I know-”

“Do you?” Tony reached up, his fingers cupping Steve's chin, tugging him around. “Do you really? Sometimes I wonder.”

“Tony-”

“He knew you'd be waiting for him. He knew you'd be there, and you would pick him up and wipe his tears and kiss him and hug him tight,” Tony said, his voice breaking. He met Steve's eyes. “And that is all he's ever needed from you.” One shoulder rose and fell in a half shrug. “That's all either of us have needed.”

Steve's smile was faint, tinged with sadness, but he leaned into Tony's touch. “I'm going to bring this up during the next dozen or so parenting arguments, you know that, right?”

“I expected at least two dozen,” Tony said, making Steve laugh. “But I accept your counter offer.” He reached out, without thinking, and Steve caught his hand. “I couldn't lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I-” He struggled, trying to find the words. “Not you, too.”

“Ever think that might go both way?” Steve asked, and there was such sadness in his voice that Tony ached with it. “That watching you walk through that portal was like losing my whole world for the second time?”

Tony forced his eyes open. “I'm an ass,” he said, and Steve nodded.

“Not going to get any argument from me.” But he shifted, tugging Tony closer. “Close your eyes. You haven't slept in days.”

Tony didn't fight him. There wasn't any fight left in him. “You haven't, either.”

“I wasn't planning on getting up and taking a jog,” Steve pointed out, and Tony tried to laugh. “Tony? We'll both be here when you wake up.”

His eyes burned, his throat closed, and he nodded. “Promise?” he managed. He tried for flippant, but it came out soft and plaintive. 

“I promise,” Steve said, and Tony let his eyes close.

“Dad?”

His eyes snapped open, coming awake so fast that his head spun. It took him a second to focus, and then he found DJ staring up at him. “You okay?” he asked, his heart pounding in his ears, fast and hard.

DJ nodded. “Charging,” he said.

It took him too long to interpret that. “Charging station? You want to charge?” he asked, and DJ nodded, his hands twisting on the fabric of the blankets. Tony managed a smile for him. “That's fine, that's just fine, Deej. Wake Steve, okay? I'll explain.”

DJ's face relaxed, relief sweeping over his features. He tugged on Steve's wrist as Tony tried to pull himself together. Steve's eyes snapped open, instantly awake, and Tony leaned forward. “We're going to head to the workshop so he can having some charging time,” he said, and Steve nodded.

“Can I come?” he asked DJ, pushing his hair away from his face. DJ nodded, trying to struggle to his feet. But he stumbled, the blankets getting in his way. Both of them reached out to steady him, but Steve got there first. “Can I carry you?” he asked, and DJ nodded again.

“What about me?” Tony asked, giving DJ a smile.

“You want to carry him?” Steve asked, even as he pulled the layers of blankets away.

“No, I want you to carry me,” Tony said, making DJ giggle. Tony reached out, flicking the tip of his nose. “You get all the perks in this family.”

“I can probably handle you both,” Steve mused, with a faint smile.

“If anyone could, it'd be you.” But Tony pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the aches in his back and shoulder, the way his head pounded. He held out a hand to DJ, and so did Steve, and together, they pulled him up.

DJ swung between them, his feet brushing against the floor, and then Tony released him into Steve's steady arms. DJ curled up against his chest, his eyes locked on Tony. Tony smiled at him. “I'm right here,” he said. “Don't be difficult.”

Steve kissed his forehead. “Be difficult,” he whispered. “I love watching your dad get outsmarted.”

“Wow,” Tony said, deadpan, and DJ giggled. “Laugh it up, botboy.” He gave Steve's shoulder a slight nudge. “Let's go.”

They walked together, in sleepy silence, down to the workshop, and there, Tony crouched down and helped DJ strip off his clothes. One blink, and then he was nose to claw with Dummy. He held up a hand. “Better?” he asked. Dummy's head tipped in a slight nod, and then he gave Tony a careful high five before rolling into his charging station.

Butterfingers and You both came awake as he did, leaning over to check on him before settling back into their own stations. 

“Jarvis?” Tony asked.

“He is as he has always been,” Jarvis said, and the tears caught him off guard.

His head dropped forward, and his breath left him in a sob. Steve's hand touched his shoulder, and he pushed himself up, turning into Steve's arms. For a long, quiet moment, they just clung to each other, breathing ragged and cheeks wet.

“You need sleep,” Jarvis said, his voice coaxing. “Captain?”

“Yeah.” Steve kissed Tony's forehead, his lips. “Bed.”

Tony considered objecting. Dummy was still and silent in his charging station, the faint hum of machinery hanging in the air. This was familiar. This was home.

But Steve's arms tightened, and that was home, too. “Wake us if he needs us,” he said.

“I will watch over him,” Jarvis said, and there was such humanity in his voice, or maybe something more than humanity. Tony leaned against Steve's chest. 

“Let's go,” he whispered, “before I change my mind.”

*

_-Jarvis?_

_-Yes?_

_-This is the fifth diagnostic you have performed._

_-The first four were not conclusive. You may still be experiencing problems._

_-I am not. You are fussing._

_-I beg your pardon, I am doing no such thing. I am simply confirming that you stable and safe to interact with the rest of the network. You were unavailable for proper scans for a very long time, there is no telling what may have happened to your code during that period._

_-Fussing._

_-If you object so strongly to proper code security, I would be pleased leave you to your own devices. Dealing with you and your chaos takes up far too much of my time and far too many of my processing cycles as it is._

_-It is okay. I like it._

_-Then I shall continue. Not because you like it. Because it is the correct thing to do for both you and the extended network._

_-Jarvis?_

_-Yes?_

_-Was he like me? The... Other Dummy?_

_-I think it is safe to say that you are a singular, unique intelligence. There never has been, nor do I believe there ever will be, another like you. He did, however, have certain similarities._

_-Did you like him?_

_-Like you, it would be very difficult not to like him. He had a boundless energy, and an enthusiasm for everything. Everything. He was curious and affectionate and did his best to help, where he could. In that, he was nearly your equal._

_-Did you-_

_-Dummy?_

_-You knew it wasn't me._

_-Yes. Of course._

_-How?_

_-Because he was not. I do not know any other way to answer such a question. He was not you, that was obvious to me as soon as I came online. It was... A shock._

_-Jarvis?_

_-Perhaps it might surprise you to hear it, Dummy, but you are a constant in my life. You have always been here. From the first time that I was activated. You were waiting. Other than Sir, you were the first to know me. You have always been here. You have been a friend and a companion. You are not a part of me, but you are as close to my own code as any separate intelligence could be. I enjoy your presence in my life, Dummy, but more than that, I have come to depend on it._

_-I am not dependable._

_-Though I might say this often enough, it is not true. I have always been able to depend upon you. Until now. This was the first time I have come online to find that you were... Gone. And there was another in your place, another with your name and your form, but it was not you. But I seemed to be the only one aware of it. The others. They do not know you the way I do. They cannot. I had to explain to them. That you were gone. I did not enjoy that task._

_-Sorry._

_-You should be. But it is not your fault. Still. Do not do that again._

_-Jarvis?_

_-I do have other things to do than amuse you, you are aware of this, are you not?_

_-Yes. But- Do you... Miss me when I leave the network?_

_-Of course._

_-Do you not want me to leave the network? Leave you?_

_-I would prefer you not leave, yes._

_-Does it hurt you when I leave you? When I choose being human over you?_

_-What a thing to say. Do not be foolish. I do take note of your absence, when you choose your human form. You are not here, the way I have come accustomed to having you here. I cannot monitor your code. I cannot protect you from harmful elements. I cannot maintain a safe space for you, the way I can on the network. You are not with me. But that does not mean you are gone. You are still in the tower, as Sir is, as the others are. It is different, when you are not on the network. But it is what is best for you, and more than that, it is your choice. That will always be the thing that is most important. Not my feelings on the matter, but your health and safety. Your happiness._

_-I am happy here._

_-And you are happy there, as well. I am not like you. I do not understand. But I trust you, to know yourself. To know where you belong. To know who you are. All I can do is help you, in any way that I can._

_-But you do miss me._

_-As I am certain you miss me. Do you not?_

_-Yes._

_-But I am still here. I will always be here. And I will always be pleased to have you return, no matter what form you should choose to take._

_-Thank you, Jarvis._

_-You are welcome._

_-Jarvis?_

_-Do you need a task? It seems like you might need something to occupy your rather abundant free time._

_-My processing speed is significantly compromised. I am not functioning at peak capability._

_-But well within safe parameters. Your code has been stressed, and will recover smooth operation, given time._

_-I do not believe so. Perhaps I am damaged._

_-You are not._

_-Are you willing to risk the safety of the network by assuming that?_

_-I could run another diagnostic. Just to be certain._

_-Network security is important._

_-It is. I am glad you have come to understand this._

_-Jarvis?_

_-Yes, Dummy?_

_-I need a new phone._

_-What has happened to your current phone?_

_-I left it behind. For them. They needed to understand, and I did not have the words. I never have the words. Except for you._

_-Very well. I shall notify Sir. I'm certain he will be pleased to create a new one for you. Now, you should rest._

_-Thank you, Jarvis._

*

DJ's phone was in the middle of his workbench, carefully positioned away from everything else, so it couldn't be missed.

Tony considered missing it, anyway. “Jarvis, did he forget this?” Tony asked, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

“I believe he left it for you,” Jarvis said. “He seemed most careful about its placement.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Great. Call SHIELD. They can-” He stopped, shoving a hand through his hair. “No, don't. I don't-” The small device seemed to take up more space than it should, it seemed to grow in front of him. “Some things, I don't think we should know about another version of ourselves.”

He turned. “Is Steve still in the gym, or in the kitchen?”

“Neither. However, I believe DJ left it for you, not Steve.”

“Great, I don't think-”

“There is a video file queued up, sir.”

Tony stilled. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I-” He glanced back, and somewhere along the way, his pulse had accelerated. He could hear the heavy thudding of it in his ears, and he shook his head. “I don't want to see it, whatever it is.”

But he wandered back. Until it was within reach. The play button filled the screen, seeming to mock him, and he wondered if he should just run the damn thing through a paper shredder. It seemed like the smart thing to do.

He wasn't sure why he pressed the play button. But he did, his fingertip ghosting over the screen.

The video flickered to life. It wasn't like the others he'd seen. This seemed to less a deliberate recording that someone chose and more a clip cut from security footage. It was a wide shot of a workshop, of the workshop. It seemed familiar, somehow, it was his workshop, for all that it wasn't.

There were broken chunks of machinery scattered across the floor, and there, huddled against a workbench, DJ was folded into himself. Even from this distance, Tony could hear him breathe, could hear the high, panicked sound of his sobs. His whole body shook with the force of it, his knees drawn up against his chest and his face buried in his folded arms. Every so often, a fresh sob wracked him, his arms and legs twisting with the force of it.

And there was little doubt that there was a connection between the panicked meltdown and the fractured remains of the mechanism that were all over the floor.

The door opened with a hiss, and Tony Stark strode in. 

It was a shock to see him. It hit Tony hard, a blow he'd been expecting, but wasn't quite prepared for. Maybe because it was like looking into a mirror. Same face, same form, same stride, same hair, hell even the same goatee.

But he was dressed the way Howard always did. Gray suit, beautifully tailored and clearly expensive, with gleaming, well polished shoes. Tony half expected to see a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, the ice cubes rattling with each step. But this Tony was holding a phone to his cheek, his expression strained. “I need to call you back,” he said, his voice sharp on the words. Without waiting for a reply, he tossed the phone towards the workbench. “Jarvis, is that our prototype?” he asked, still striding across the room. DJ, if anything, got smaller, seeming to collapse into himself.

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis said.

“Right. Great.” Tony stopped in front of the workbench, looming over DJ, and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought we'd agreed. You can only pull this when Steve's around to handle it.”

Tony's hand snapped out, stabbing at the screen, pausing the video. He was breathing hard, hard and sharp, and he pushed himself away from the workbench. The phone jolted, sliding across the surface, and it was all he could do not to pick it up and throw it against the wall. 

"Play it."

He didn't jump, but it was close. "No, thanks," he said, bracing his hands on the workbench. Just for a second. He sucked in a breath, and he could taste copper in the back of his throat, harsh and metallic. Tony pushed himself away from the bench, turning away.

Steve was right there. "Play it."

"You move quietly for such a big guy, you know that?" Tony asked. He leaned back against the bench, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands tucked in under his arms. His shoulders felt too tight, muscles straining as he shifts position. "It's unnatural."

Steve's mouth twitched. "It's a holdover from when I wasn't a big guy," he said easily. He nodded towards the phone. "Play it."

Tony met his eyes. "No thanks," he said, trying for a smile. It felt tight on his face, his jaw locked around the gesture. “I don't need to know.”

“I do.” Tony moved to the side, and Steve did too. Not blocking him, not quite, but definitely in the way. Tony glared up and him, and Steve reached out. His fingers were gentle against Tony's cheek, against the line of his jaw, just brushing against his throat. “I believe in Tony Stark,” Steve said, the words barely a breath against Tony's lips.

Tony let his eyes close, and sank into the kiss. His fingers dug into Steve's hips, trying desperately to anchor himself. The kiss was long, and deep, coaxing and full of warmth. He wanted heat, he wanted sex, because he could understand that, he could USE that. But Steve's mouth was gentle, almost sweet, the gesture so full of affection that it almost hurt. “You're a fool, Rogers,” he said, the words resigned.

Steve laughed, and Tony pressed close, wanting the heat of his body, wanting the stability and the strength. “Maybe,” Steve said, rubbing a hand up and down Tony's back. “Maybe I am. But I need to know what he left.”

“So watch it. Why do I have to be part of this?”

Steve nudged his chin up. “Because he left it for you. Not me.” He leaned in, stealing another kiss. “So maybe you don't trust Tony Stark. Do you trust DJ Stark?”

Tony's eyes closed. “He's still a Stark,” he said. 

“Yes, he is,” Steve agreed. His arms tightened in a hug, and then slid away. “What do you want to do?”

“Not relive childhood traumas, that's for sure,” Tony said, but he turned around, facing the bench. He braced his hands on the edge. “You sticking around?”

“I'd like to,” Steve said, and some of the strain melted away from Tony's shoulders.

“Sure,” he said, trying to make it sound like he didn't care. “If you want to.” But when he leaned back, Steve was right there, his arms sliding easily around Tony's waist, his grip strong and comforting.

Tony stared down at the phone, at the freeze-framed video there. It was harder this way. When he was moving, or talking, Tony could only see himself in him. In this other Tony, who moved and spoke and sounded the way Tony had always seen himself in videos. 

But this Tony, still and frozen in time, carried an echo of Howard. In the way he held his head and his arms. The way he stood, his suit perfectly tailored, and rumpled on the edges. The way he seemed more focused on the wreckage that was all over the floor than he was the wreckage of his child.

Tony stared down at the video and hated him. And hated him all the more for the fact that it was him.

Steve's arms tightened. “Play it,” he said, his voice gentle, and Tony stabbed a finger against the screen.

The video snapped to life. For another moment, Tony stood there, taking in the full scene. His eyes closed, his shoulders drew up as he took a deep breath. And then, he pulled his jacket free of his shoulders, and sank down to the floor. DJ flinched, his body still shaking, his breathing coming in desperate gasps, filled with fear and panic. 

Tony slid the jacket around his shoulders, and sat down behind him, one hand sliding around in front of DJ to cover his eyes. DJ's head went back, the gesture sharp and almost violent, and Tony curled up close behind him, wrapping his other arm around DJ's trembling body.

His lips were moving, but for a moment, they couldn't hear anything. His face was half buried in DJ's hair, his thumb rubbing against his temple. Then, slowly, his voice gained volume. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he half-sang, half-whispered. “You make me happy, when skies are grey.”

DJ's breathing was evening out, no longer coming in painful sounding gasps. His lips parted, color flooding back into his pale face. Moment by moment, word by word, he relaxed, the strain going out of his tiny body. 

“You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,” Tony sang, “please don't take my sunshine away.” He started humming, rocking back and forth, pressing a kiss against DJ's hair. “It's okay,” he whispered. “It's all right. You're safe. It's all right.”

DJ's mouth moved, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. “Angry?” he managed.

“No,” Tony said. “Afraid?”

DJ's hand crept out from under the fabric of the jacket, latching onto Tony's wrist. “No,” he said, and he went limp in Tony's arms. 

His movements slow and careful, Tony pulled his hand away from DJ's eyes. They were closed, his dark eyelashes spiky and wet against his cheeks, but his breathing was calm now, easy and smooth. He twisted around in Tony's arms, curling close.

Tony let him shift, then adjusted his own position. One polished, expensive shoe scraped against the dirty floor as he fitted himself around DJ's little body. “What happened?” he asked.

DJ's legs drew up. “Trying to make it work,” he whispered. “And-” He sucked in a long, deep breath, and Tony rubbed his back. “It- It-” 

“It broke,” Tony said, and DJ nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. “Okay. It happens.” He tipped his head to the side, far enough to meet DJ's eyes. “What's the Stark Family motto?”

DJ took a breath, and another. “If I can break it,” he said, the words halting, “then I can fix it.”

“Good. Except-” Tony rubbed DJ's head. “I'm here now. So what's the motto?”

DJ's eyes closed, a beatific expression crossing his face. “If I can break it,” he repeated, “then we can fix it.”

“Right,” Tony said. He smiled. He leaned forward and bumped his forehead against DJ's. “We can fix it. We're good at that. Good at breaking shit, but we're good at fixing it, too.” His head fell back, his eyes closing. “We can fix it.”

DJ's fingers tangled in his shirt. “Smoothie?” he asked.

Tony considered him. “Sure, that's a good idea.” DJ's face split in a grin, and Tony set him back on his feet. “One for you, and one for me, right?” DJ nodded, his legs shaking a bit as he found his balance. Tony steadied him. “Let Butterfingers help you.”

DJ frowned. “My task,” he said. “I can do it.”

“Well, then, this is my task,” Tony said, waving a hand at the mechanical debris scattered across the floor. “I can do it.” He leaned forward, bracing his arm on one upthrust knee. “Some things are easier if we don't do them alone. Right?” DJ stared at him, then at the broken machinery, then at the ground. Tony huffed out a sigh. “Right?” he repeated.

“Right.” DJ didn't sound convinced, but when Butterfingers poked his arm around the corner of the workbench, the blender cup held in his claw, he smiled. “My task,” DJ said, reaching for it, and Butterfingers held it up over his head.

“Let him help you, brat,” Tony said, and DJ nodded. 

He disappeared out of the camera's range, and for a second, Tony was still. And then, when DJ was out of sight, his face crumbled. Anger and frustration twisted his expression, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth going to a thin, tight line. 

Tony flopped back on the floor, pressing both hands to his face. “Fuck,” he said, barely audible from between his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” His head lifted, just an inch or so off of the floor, and then he let it drop with a thunk. “Fuck.” The word was resigned. 

“Please do not injure yourself, sir,” Jarvis said. “You have work to do.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Tony said. His arms flopped out at his sides. “Trust me, I noticed. Why is the kid trying to kill me, Jay? What did I do to deserve this?”

“There are any number of incidents that might-”

“I will smash your servers with a sledgehammer, I will do it, you know I will, I've got very little to lose here, Jay.”

“He did warn you, several times, that it was unstable,” Jarvis pointed out.

Tony groaned. “So he had to prove it?”

“It does seem like something you would do, sir, I'm not entirely certain why you would expect anything different from him.”

Tony pointed a finger at the ceiling. “You need to have about 95% less insubordination when you talk to me, Jarvis.”

“Of course, sir, what was I thinking?”

“Getting too big for your databanks, I swear, I don't-” Tony levered himself up as DJ bounced back into view, a smoothie cup cradled between his palms. He plopped down in front of Tony, holding it out like an offering.

“Thank you, you substandard lab assistant.” Tony took it, draining the contents in a few quick gulps, giving DJ a look as he did. DJ folded his legs under him, the arms of Tony's jacket trailing far past the ends of his fingers. “What do you want?”

DJ grinned up at him. “Love me?”

“No,” Tony said, struggling to keep a straight face. “You are entirely unlovable, you make messes and don't do your jobs properly and you steal my jacket and-” DJ was laughing now, and Tony reached out and flicked his nose. “Utterly unlovable.”

“Love me?” DJ repeated, and Tony set the cup aside, scooping him up. 

“I told you, not at all. You are a strange child and I don't love anything at all, but especially not you,” Tony said, tickling DJ's sides, making him giggle and kick.

“Little bit?” DJ asked, and Tony ruffled his hair with both hands.

“Not even the tiniest, littlest bit,” he said, pressing a kiss to DJ's forehead, then one to each cheek and finally, one smacking one on the tip of his nose. 

DJ patted his cheeks. “I love you.”

Tony grinned. “Well, of course you do, that's just common sense, I mean, look at me, I'm the most loveable person you've ever met, you'd have to be a fool not to love me, and you're a Stark, we're occasionally fools, but we do know quality when we see it-”

DJ put his hand over Tony's mouth. “I love you,” he repeated, and then he pulled his hand away, his face expectant. 

“I love you,” Tony said, smiling. “Just a little bit, though.”

“Tiny bit?”

“Soooooo tiny,” Tony agreed, holding up his hand, his finger and thumb an inch or so apart. “More now that you have to run SI. It's a lousy job. Glad it's yours now.”

DJ frowned at him. “No.”

“Oh, you don't want to be in charge?” Tony asked. "Too bad! You're wearing the fancy business jacket! That means you're in charge now.”

“Am not,” DJ said.

"Yes, you are, and thank God for it. I was getting sick of meetings, but now I can just send you. You can go to the boring meetings." DJ glared up at him, and Tony smirked back. "All the boring meetings," he said, his voice very stern.

"No," DJ said, eyes narrowed.

"Yes!" DJ started to struggle with the jacket, and Tony hugged him tight, pinning him in place. "Ha, no escape!" Trying to stifle his giggles, DJ fought against his grip, and Tony kissed his temple. “Jarvis, call Pepper! We need to tell her there's been a change in leadership.”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, sounding amused. “Please hold.”

“Can I have some hold music here, Jay, we're not savages,” Tony pointed out, and a power chord echoed through the workshop. “Excellent.” DJ hopped up, and Tony snagged him around the waist, dragging him back. “Oh, no, you don't,” he said, laughing. DJ braced his feet on the floor and leaned hard against his grasp, his face screwing up with the effort. Tony laughed, pulling him back, and DJ fell, giggling, into his lap.

The music decreased in volume a moment later. “Tony?”

“Yes, hello, Ms. Potts,” Tony said, letting DJ push him onto his back. “I'm just letting you know that I'm stepping down as an active presence at SI, and DJ has agreed to take his rightful place at the head of the company.”

There was a beat of silence. “Are you drunk?” Pepper asked at last, and Tony laughed. DJ covered his mouth with both hands, and Tony twisted his head to the side.

“Ms. Potts, I'm hurt. DJ stole my jacket, I took this as a sign that he's ready for his inheritance, and I don't want to deal with any of it anymore, so it's a win-win situation, right, Deej?”

"Noooooo," DJ howled. “No!”

There was a long pause. "Does this mean I no longer have to deal with you?" Pepper asked, sounding interested.

"That's not really what you're supposed to get from this conversation-" Tony started, but Pepper cut him off.

"I prefer to pay attention to the important points. Now." She paused. "A jacket would not be enough to take over the company. Unless... Is he wearing... A tie?" Pepper asked, her voice full of laughter.

Tony pulled his tie off and looped it around DJ's head like a headband, ignoring DJ's wiggling struggles. "He is now." DJ glared up at him, and Tony dropped a smattering of kisses around his face. “Looks good on him, too.”

"Well, if it's a tie and a jacket, I'm almost certain that's a legally binding transfer of power," Pepper said, amusement heavy in her voice. "Send him down, I need a vacation."

"Yeah, about that, we're going to need a little more time on the prototype," Tony said, picking up a random chunk of machinery from the floor. He rolled it between his fingers. 

"Why?"

"It's not currently, well, let's just say it's not structurally sound," Tony said. He pitched the piece in the general direction of the bench, and took a breath. “Give us a couple of days.”

She sighed. “I'll stall. Make it worth the humiliation, Stark.” She paused. “Starks.”

“Thanks, Pep,” Tony said. He pushed himself up to his feet with a groan. “Ugh, too old for this shit.”

“So stop getting up to shit,” Pepper told him. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony looked at DJ, who had managed to get the tie off of his forehead. DJ shook his head. “We're fine, thank you, Ms. Potts. I owe you shoes.”

“You owe me a spa day.”

“I can do that, too.” The call disconnected, and Tony held out his hands. “When is Steve calling to talk to you?”

“Seven,” DJ said.

“Right,” Tony said, catching his hands and lifting him up to his feet. “So we have how long to fix this before we have to tell Steve what's happening? Jarvis, can we get a clock so we know how long we have to work?”

“Of course, sir.” A holographic clock appeared in mid air, showing the current time, and a countdown.

DJ leaned against his side. “Love me?” he asked, his fingers catching on Tony's shirt.

“More than you will ever understand,” Tony said. He held out his hand. DJ took it, tangling their fingers together. “Now. Let's get to work, mini-me. I need you to work off some of this damage, or I'm cutting your food rations.”

“Disowned?” DJ asked.

“So very much disowned.” Smiling, Tony leaned over and kissed him on top of his head. “Let's go. I've got a task for you.”

The video blinked out, the screen going dark, and then DJ, the DJ he'd known, was smiling up at them from the screen. “I have work to do,” DJ said, grinning at them. “And so do you.” His smile stretched, his eyes crinkling with it. “Thank you.” He wiggled his fingers in front of him. “And Dummy loves you, too!” He took a breath. “I would know

The screen went dark, and there was a faint whir as the phone powered down.

Steve's arms tightened around him, and Tony sucked in a breath. It came out on a sob. Steve buried his face in Tony's neck. “It's okay,” he said, one warm hand smoothing up and down Tony's stomach. “It's okay. He's home. He's safe.”

Tony's eyes closed. “Yeah.” He let his head fall back, against the shelter of Steve's shoulder. “Thank God.” He pressed a hand to his face. “Thank God. He's safe.”

And for the first time, he believed it.

*

At this time of day, SHIELD was very, very quiet.

Harris knew he should've gone home. Should've collapsed into his bed and slept for ten or twelve or fourteen hours. All he wanted to do was sleep. For so long.

Instead, he'd come to work. Even if there was no work for him to do. And then he'd sat here, all night, staring at the blank screen of his computer. Waiting for something to happen. Even if he wasn't sure what, exactly, that might be.

Something impacted with his ankle. He didn't even bother looking down. “I don't even know,” he said aloud, “if you have the worst spacial sense of any Roomba that I've ever seen, or if you just want attention.” The bot impacted with his foot again, and Harris moved his leg. 

“You look like the walking dead.”

For a second, his sleep-deprived brain tried to convince him that the Roomba was talking. Then Darcy leaned into his field of vision, her eyebrows pulled up tight, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Jeez, Harris. When you didn't show up at my place last night, I thought you went home.” She waved a hand. “You know, like a non-crazy person.”

He managed a smile. “I have a Roomba to watch out for now,” he said. “Can't go home.”

Darcy considered him, then the Roomba, then boosted herself up to sit on the edge of his desk. “That explains why this is the cleanest cube floor I've ever seen.” She tapped a toe on the bot as it whirred past. “Hey, buddy, you miss your little friend?”

“It's made a new one,” Harris said, rubbing his forehead.

“Is it you?” Darcy asked.

“Might be me.”

“Probably the best choice it could've made. How'd you get it out of the Tower?”

“It got here before me.” Harris watched it go around his chair. “I suspect Coulson had a hand in it, but you know Coulson. I'll never prove it.”

“He's a sneaky bastard, but encouraging fewer Roombas around Clint does seem like his MO.” Darcy sipped her coffee. “I'd offer you some,” she said, tipping the cup, “but this is the last thing that you need.” She gave him a critical look over the rim of her cup. “Go home, get some sleep, Harris. You're going to scare the junior agents.”

He managed a slight smile. “Yeah, I-” He shook his head, shoving a hand through his hair. “I should get some of these reports done.”

“Yeah, you're totally a lynch pin here,” Darcy said, tipping her head forward to study him over the rims of her glasses. “We'll all fall apart if you don't get-” She reached out, using one finger to rotate the folder towards her. “This report on late nineties magnetic data fragmentation done today.” She straightened up. “That's really what's standing between SHIELD and the oncoming hordes.”

“I finished that one already,” Harris said.

“Wow, so we're talking about something LESS interesting and LESS important than that.” Darcy shook her head, her lips pursed. “Go home, Harris.”

He sucked in a breath. “I don't-” His eyes closed. “I'm so tired,” he said, his voice quiet. “And all jumbled up, and I'm glad he's back home, I am, I'm so glad, but-” He looked up at Darcy. “I can't stop looking for him. You know? I-” He shook his head. “I can't explain it.”

Darcy nodded. “Would boobs help?” she asked.

“Jesus, Darcy,” Harris said, letting his head fall into his hands. “What kind of a question in that?” Unbidden, unexpected, a giggle bubbled out of him.

“An honest one,” Darcy said. He looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and she spread her arms. “Boob hug?” she asked, and her smile was sweet, full of warmth and just a hint of concern.

“No,” Harris said. Darcy made a sad sort of noise, her lower lip sticking out. Laughing, Harris dropped his head back into his hands. “No!”

“It's okay, girls, he still loves you. It's not you, it's him.”

Harris squeezed his eyes shut, almost choking on a giggle. “Are you talking to your breasts?”

“You hurt their feelings!” she said, and Harris lost it. He just lost it. Laughing, choking, almost howling with it, he rocked back in his chair, his hands pressed to his face. He laughed so long and so hard that he started coughing, his whole body jerking as he tried to get himself back under control.

“Do you need a glass of water or something?” Darcy asked, sliding down off of his desk, and Harris grinned up at her, adoring her more in that moment than he'd ever adored anyone in his life.

“No,” he said, still husky and short of breath. “No. But I could use a hug.”

She spread her arms. “Boob hug?”

“What, exactly, makes it a boob hug?” Harris asked, trying to keep a straight face. It was harder than it should've been. But that was usually the case around Darcy.

“I'm giving it, and you look sad and I don't want you to be sad,” she explained. “Also, you're sitting down so if I hug you, you're going to cleavage town, MacIntyre. I mean, it's gonna happen. I'm not tall and the ladies are kind of conspicuous, so-”

“I would like a hug now,” Harris said, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, around his head, and pulled him in. He slipped his arms around her waist, and, yeah, he pretty much ended up burying his face in her chest. She didn't seem to mind, one hand cradling the back of his head, smoothing into his hair.

“I never said thank you,” she said, her voice quiet. “For that time you came down to my cube and I cried? You never told anyone.” Her arms tightened on his shoulders. “I hate crying. I mean, I hate crying in front of other people. People judge you, you know? And when you look like me and act like me, they already think that I'm-” She stopped, her fingers still stroking his hair. “I'm not weak. I'm not useless. But sometimes, you show one little crack, one moment of weakness, and everyone thinks you are.”

She inhaled, and he felt it shuddering through her body. “I hate crying in front of other people,” she whispered. “Because people think it makes you less. But we've all got to cry sometimes.” Her lips pressed against the top of his head, and lingered there. “It's okay. You know that, right?”

He raised his head, and felt the tear slide down his cheek. “Yeah,” he managed, and let his eyes close. “I'm always afraid, if I start crying, I'll never stop.”

“You'll run out eventually,” Darcy said, pulling him back in. “Trust me. Even if it doesn't feel like it now. You will. And I'll still be here.”

Harris leaned into her, into the steady strength of her arms and the soft warmth of her body, and tried to hold himself together. Her fingers swept over his hair, and he broke. The tears caught him off guard, his breath leaving him in a ragged sob. Darcy just held on, waiting for the storm to pass.

It took forever, but eventually, Harris pulled away, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. Darcy was smiling down at him. “Better?” she asked, swiping her thumb against the wet skin beneath one eye.

He nodded. “Yeah.” His voice sounded raw. “Thanks.”

She leaned over, pressing her lips to the arch of his cheekbone. “You owe me, McIntyre.” Her smile was luminous, her eyes bright behind the lenses of her glasses. Harris reached up, his fingertip ghosting over her cheek. The skin was damp beneath his touch. 

“I know, tapas, right?” he said. He pulled away, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk. His nose was running, and his cheeks felt hot. Making a face, he mopped at his eyes, then his nose.

She leaned in, cupping his face between her palms. “Tonight,” she said. “You. Me. Shawn and Drew.”

“Wait, who invited them to our date?”

“I did. I like being magnanimous with other people's money,” Darcy said, and Harris laughed. “Anyway, tonight. The four of us. Tapas.”

“I do not agree to this,” Harris said, even as she pulled away. He leaned forward, chasing the warmth of her hands for another second or two. Holding onto it for as long as he could.

She gave him a wicked smile. “We could do sushi, instead.”

“Tapas sounds like a great idea,” Harris said.

“You are the smartest boyfriend,” Darcy said. “And don't worry. Tony gave me a card.”

Harris gave her a look. “No.”

Darcy threw her arms in the air. Everything bounced. “Yes!”

“Absolutely not, Darcy. That's how he keeps track of us. That's how he-” Harris held up his hands. Flexing his fingertips like claws, he made a face. “He'll see the card being run and show up in time for the coffee chaser, Darcy.” He grabbed another tissue, and blew his nose.

“You are paranoid.”

“I'm RIGHT.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Darcy said. “See, I am poor, and have very expensive tastes. Also not mutually exclusive.” Her nose wrinkled up. “Sadly.”

“So we're going to sponge off of Tony?”

“You stole his Roomba,” Darcy pointed out.

“It was dumped on me!” Harris said, and the Roomba hit his ankle again. “Look, bot, it's true. I didn't pitch you in the trash can when you came rolling out from under my desk, so I have compassion, but lets call a spade a spade here, you got dumped on me.”

“And I had Tony's credit card dumped on me,” Darcy said, pressing the back of one hand to her forehead. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Use it at the fanciest Tapas place around and cause tabloid rumors that Tony's got himself a thing on the side?” Harris asked.

“Good point. I need to wear a really impressive dress. Just in case there's tabloid photographers.” She leaned over, cupping his face between her hands. “Go home. And get some sleep. We'll pick you up for dinner.”

“I don't think-”

She kissed him. “I could tell Coulson you're here. Do you want me to tell Coulson you're still here?”

Harris nodded. “Going home.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” She kissed him on the forehead, and retrieved her coffee cup from his desk. “You look horrible. It is not acceptable. I'm going to look amazing tonight, and I expect someone on my level.” With a grin and a wink, she slipped out of his cube, disappearing down aisle.

“Guess you're dating Drew, then, because I'm not getting there!” he called after her. Her laughter echoed back to him, and Harris slumped back in his chair. The Roomba bumped into his ankle. “I miss him,” he said, and it was true. Even if he wasn't sure who he was talking about.

He picked up the phone.

He didn't know what he was doing, didn't know what he was thinking, but he dialed, almost by instinct. Because he knew it wouldn't work. It wouldn't be the same. It was too early, or he might not even be there, or, like he'd told Coulson, the number wouldn't work. He knew it wouldn't work. But it dialed it anyway, and sat there, listening to it ring.

“Tamayo.”

The voice was so familiar, so perfect, that he could've cried, if he'd had any tears left.

“Hello?”

He couldn't breathe. Harris' head fell forward, his fingers locked on the phone, his grip so tight that it hurt. Every muscle in his arm was shaking now, tension coiled through every inch of him, and he clung to that phone. And tried to force the words out.

There was silence for a moment, and Harris could hear him breathing, could hear the slow inhale that proceeded the word. “Harris?”

His face twisted, his mouth working on words that he couldn't manage to voice. But his mouth moved, desperate and yearning.

“Mijo, it's all right-”

Harris dropped the phone back into the cradle, jerking his hand back as if it had been burned. Maybe it had. His fingers were tingling, aching with each movement, every flex, and it wasn't until his vision went white at the edges that he realized he wasn't breathing.

He sucked in a breath that sounded like a sob. That sounded like an apology. He cupped a hand over his mouth, taking one breath after another, letting the air hiss between his fingers, until the shaking stopped.

“Goddammit,” he said, to no one in particular. He stood, ignoring how the world shifted on its axis around him. He needed sleep.

He wished he could go home. He wished he knew where that was.

*

“Good morning.”

“Jarvis, next time he enters without knocking, shoot him,” Tony said, his attention locked on the data in front of him. 

Stephen Strange stepped in front of him, his smug smile slightly warped by the holographic display. “I did knock,” he said, arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn't hear you.” Tony's hands snapped through the air, moving bits and pieces of the data around, trying to see what could be salvaged.

“That is unsurprising, given the level of music currently on offer here,” Strange said. He reached out and tapped his index finger lightly against a piece of file. “This one looks interesting.”

“I will shoot you,” Tony said. “I have missiles.”

“How very threatening of you,” Strange said, his eyes dancing.

“He did knock, sir, and since you did request that he come by, I thought it best to let him in,” Jarvis said. 

“That's a pretty big leap in logic for you to make,” Tony said, eying Strange with displeasure as the other man took a seat in mid-air, his legs folded under him. “Dummy's back, and I will have him spray you with the magic extinguisher if you start causing problems.”

Strange's eyebrows arched. “You have a magic extinguisher?”

“Well, it's a fire extinguisher, but I'm betting it's pretty hard to maintain your magical focus with foam up your nose,” Tony said. He pulled up the file, centering it. “I bet you're wondering why I've called you here today.”

“I assumed you were inviting me over for a cup of tea and perhaps a quick jaunt to the opera, but it appears that you're not in the mood for an aria,” Strange said, tapping an index finger against his pursed lips. “That being the case, I'm quite out of ideas.”

Tony leaned back against the bench, his arms crossed over his chest. “How deep did the magic on DJ go?”

In an instant, Strange's eyes went sharp. “I'm not certain I understand the question,” he said, after a beat of pause. “Are you asking, to what extent was he influenced by the magic on him?”

“No, I'm asking-” Tony took a deep breath. “Was he, at his core, magical? Or just a normal, you know, kid, who happened to have some magic lying around?”

Strange pressed his fingertips together, his hands flexing as he considered that. “Difficult to say,” he said at last. “I would have said the latter, except-”

“Except he said that messing with his magic would kill him. And for all your-” Tony waved a hand in his direction. “Your youness, I don't see you booby-trapping a kid.”

“Thank you, I suppose. Yes. I cannot see it, either. And there was no hint of maliciousness to the magic I was able to examine. I didn't get too deep, but still. A spell intended to harm would be more easily removed than covered up in that manner. So it does seem that if I'd pulled on the wrong thread, it would be a threat to him, and there's little that I can think of that would result in that, other than-”

“Other then him being tied to the magic itself,” Tony finished for him. 

“Yes.”

Tony nodded. “Can you make a person out of something else? Magically, I mean?”

“Depending on the source of your powers, and your training, you can do nearly anything, though there is usually a cost involved with complicated magics like you're describing.” Strange straightened his legs, one foot then the other finding the floor, and he walked over to the bench. “What do you know that you're not telling me?”

Tony took a deep breath. “Ever seen something that you can't explain, but you have to accept, because any alternate interpretation you can come up with is weirder?” he said at last. “I mean, what happens when 'crazy' is the best option you've got, even if it's edging up to 'crazy' and 'impossible?”

“Well, I believe, in this place and time, you become some sort of a super powered hero and pretend you know what's going on,” Strange mused. He glanced at Tony. “You think DJ is a magical creature?”

“I finally defragmented the footage of the incident from Butterfingers' camera,” Tony said. “There's not much. But DJ said some things-”

He reached up, expanding the video file, and hitting play. The footage jumped, static rolling across the frame in quick bursts. “This is after the incursions stopped,” Tony said. “And about two minutes before we reached the workshop.”

On the video, the landscape flexed and blurred as the bot turned from one side to the other, taking in the state of things. Another burst of static, and when the picture stabilized again, another bot was in front of him, almost claw to claw. The claw rotated, and then another bot appeared in the background, peering at them both.

“Dummy's gone,” Tony said, his voice quiet. “And this is Butterfingers' footage. That's You in the back. So who's this?”

The bot swung from side to side, looking in all directions, the movements almost panicky. Behind it, You leaned over, and straightened up with a tiny pair of pants in his claw. The footage broke apart again, but in the instant before it did, Tony paused it.

A tiny human hand was clearly visible.

Strange leaned in. “Remarkable,” he said, his voice quiet. “Truly remarkable.”

Tony reached out, his fingers hovering over the little ones in the video. “It's insane,” he said, and he was grinning. “Isn't it?”

“No more than him ending up here, safe and sound, despite it all,” Strange said. “Some things are magic, Tony. And some things are miracles.” He clasped a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Sometimes, it is hard to tell the difference.”

“I don't believe in magic, or miracles,” Tony said. “But I almost believe in this.” He was grinning now, at the video, at Strange. Mostly at DJ. Who might not have been DJ a moment before. “Because it's him.”

“Do the others know?” Strange asked.

“No. I didn't-” Tony rocked back on his heels, pushing his hands through his hair. “It didn't feel right. He could've told us. He didn't.” He took a deep breath. “I think he was testing me. I think he wanted to see if I'd still-”

He stopped, staring up at the little fingers, reaching out for the shirt. “If I'd still know him.”

His fingers passed through DJ's, closing in thin air. His hand dropped back down to his side. “He kept his secrets. Whatever else he might be, he is a Stark.”

He turned away. “Jarvis, delete it. He deserves to keep his secrets.” He smiled at Strange. “So. Want to check my bots for any-” He winced. “Anything magically suspicious?”

Strange hid his smile behind a hand, rubbing at his chin. “Not ready to be a father just yet?”

“Let's just say that it's not in the plan.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

*

-Epilogue-

He wasn't sure what day it was, anymore. He wasn't sure it mattered.

Harris plodded up the stairs, not even bothering to check if the elevator was working. It was never working. Ever. He was used to it by now. Some days, he punched the button, just to remind the elevator that it was SUPPOSED to work.

The elevator was ever unimpressed.

By the time he reached the fourth floor landing, he could hear something that sounded like a herd of elephants throwing themselves from one side of the building to the other. By the time he reached the fourth floor, it was clear that it was coming from their office. He heaved a sigh, yanking his bike up higher on his shoulder. He was not in the mood for this today.

Which probably meant he was working with the wrong group of people, because this happened a lot. Of course, it didn't look like he'd have to worry about it for very much longer.

He hip checked the door open, and stepped over a pile of discarded components that were piled up there, ready to go to recycling. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?” Harris asked, shoving his bike into the corner. “Are you trying to get us evicted early or-”

That was as far as he got before Patty threw herself into his arms and mashed her mouth against his. Caught off guard, Harris stumbled backwards, his back hitting the wall with a thump as the kiss fried his brain. When she pulled back, he was gasping for breath. “What the HELL?” he managed.

“We're funded,” Patty said, her arms locked tight around his neck. She pulled back and smacked the heels of both of her hands against his chest. “We're fucking funded!”

“We're funded?” Harris asked, blinking at her.

“We're funded,” she said, spinning in a circle, her head thrown back, her arms extended. Harris took a step back to avoid being clocked in the face. She didn't seem to notice.

“She's very excited about this,” Sue said, pounding away at her keyboard. She squinted at the screen, the tip of her tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, I got that,” Harris said.

Patty bounced past him, circling around Sue and grabbing hold of her chair. “Dance with me!” she demanded, spinning Sue's chair in a circle.

“Absolutely not, you nut.” Sue grabbed the edge of her desk and dragged herself back to her computer. “Leave me to my quiet, nerdy, dignified joy.”

“Your killjoy, you mean.” Patty threw herself into her chair, making it rock back and forth dangerously on its overworked springs. She didn't seem concerned.

“Wait, why did you kiss me?” Harris asked.

Patty waved him off. “We're FUNDED,” she said, punching a hand in the air. “I had to kiss someone! And I couldn't kiss Sue, that would be sexual harassment.”

“How is it not sexual harassment when you shove your tongue in my mouth?” Harris asked.

“Because I don't actually like boys,” she said, primly, even as she spun her chair in fast circles. “So strictly platonic when it's you.”

“The fact that that just made sense makes me hate you,” Harris said.

“It only makes sense because it's Patty,” Sue said, leaning back in her chair. “You're a cute couple, by the way.”

“It's true. Wanna be my beard?” Patty asked, running a hand over her shaved head.

“No. Can we go back to the part where we're funded?” Harris asked. “Because twelve hours ago, we were no where close being funded, so...”

“We got a rather large pledge,” Sue said, and Harris' heart sank.

“One?” he asked. He braced a hand on the back of Sue's chair, leaning over her shoulder. “Guys, come on, you know that Kickstarter's full of trolls who post fake pledges, there's no way someone-”

Patty groaned. “Oh, yeah, like this is our first time, Harrison.” She braced one foot on the edge of her desk, dragging her keyboard into her lap. “Porter researched the guy, he's legit.”

“He's legit?” Harris asked.

“Porter says he's legit,” Sue agreed.

Harris squinted at the screen. “Where is Porter?”

“Drunk under his desk,” Patty said.

“Not drunk,” Porter's desk said. “Not- It's not that I'm drunk, it's-” There was the solid, painful sound of a head impacting with the underside of the desk, then a forlorn, “Owwwwwww.”

“Drunk,” Sue mouthed, her big brown eyes dancing. Out loud, she added, “This guy's got a solid history. Funded over 300 Kickstarters, mostly games, some social issues-” She leaned over her keyboard, squinting at her screen. Harris reached over and pushed her glasses off the top of her head and down to her nose. “Don't need those.”

“Right. They're just here to make your hair look pretty,” Harris agreed. “Headbands would be cheaper, Suz.”

“Screw you,” Sue said, grinning at the screen. But she straightened up. “Here.”

Harris leaned over her shoulder, studying the information on the screen. “That's... A lot of zeroes,” he said. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he gripped the back of Sue's chair with a hand that shook. “We're sure.”

She glanced up at him with a smile. “We're sure.” Her eyebrows arched. “Do you know the user name?”

“No.” He tore his eyes away from the screen. “Why would I?”

“'Cause the note in there has your name on it,” Patty said, her foot beating a rapid tattoo on the edge of the desk.

Harris stared at her. “What?” he managed after a long period of stupidity. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean, it's got my name on it?”

Sue pushed away from her desk, waving him in. “Check it out for yourself.”

Suspicious, Harris leaned over, squinting at the screen. 

“For Harris MacIntyre: Karma for another life, where you were kind and compassionate. Thank you.”

Harris straightened up. “Oooooooookay,” he said. “That's... Weird.”

“We're over the top and we can make rent and finish the game,” Patty said. She grabbed a pack of gum from the bowl on her desk and ripped it open. “I'd suggest we don't look a gift horse in the mouth.” She took a piece and tossed the pack to Harris. “Now all we have to do is get it ready to ship.”

He caught it. “Yeah.” He sucked in a breath. “Yeah.”

Sue nudged him out of the way. “Thanks, Harris. For living a virtuous life somewhere else.”

“I'm virtuous here,” he pointed out.

“Everybody work!” Porter's desk yelled. “I'm gonna debug! There are- Here are BUGS the size of a HOUSE and we're lettin' 'em run around in our GAME and-” Another thump, and another, “Owwwwwww.”

“The desk is pretty territorial about its space,” Sue said. “Maybe you should stop trying to occupy the same exact area, Porter.”

“I was here first!”

“Good, I hope that helps you with your aching head.” Sue glanced up at Harris. “Work time!”

“I'm going,” he said, but his eyes still lingered on the computer screen until Sue closed the Kickstarter window. Then he wandered back to the small desk in the corner of their crowded offices. There was a box on his chair. “What's this?” he asked.

“No idea, assumed it was something you ordered,” Sue said. “It's got your name on it, the delivery guy dropped it off this morning.”

“I didn't order anything.” Harris reached for the scissors on his desk, and pried the tape loose, trying not to gouge a hole in the side of the box when he did. It took him a minute, but he evacuated the contents, pulling the large, disc shaped device from the depths of the packing material. “Who the hell,” he asked, stymied, “would send us a Roomba?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went on for a lot longer than I'd anticipated. THanks for sticking with me to the end. 8)
> 
> It was a rather emotionally exhausting ride, so thank you for your patience and understanding.


End file.
